


Permanent Ink

by thedevianthunter



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Captain Allen was a fuckboy in his youth don't @ me on this, F/M, M/M, Reader is not impressed, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-07-10 20:37:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15957059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevianthunter/pseuds/thedevianthunter
Summary: You cut to the chase rather quickly and write ‘hi, soulmate what’s your name?’ on your arm, and you’ll never forget feeling your heart about to jump out of your chest as you eagerly waited for their reply.You’ll also never forget crying your eyes out after receiving the words ‘fuck off’ in return.





	1. Disillusionment

**Author's Note:**

> I received a request on tumblr to write a fic in my favorite AU, but I got carried away with this one lol.

You weren’t always this much of a pessimist.

Nobody really is at first. It’s just—sometimes, life doesn’t turn out the way you want it to, even though it seems to be going well for everyone else around you. 

Take your soulmate, for example. 

Your perfect other half. That wonderful individual who’s supposed to turn your life upside down and show you what it truly means to be hopelessly,  _pathetically_  in love.

You first learn about it in school.

You’re still a child and bursting with excitement and glee. Crushes are gross, but soulmates? The best thing you can hope for. Without a doubt, yours is someone really cool who shares your favorite color and loves the same movies that you do. They’re someone with whom you’ll spend your whole existence with; together, you’ll live out this fairytale in which the two of you are connected by a force more powerful than fate. 

“Whatever you write on your skin will show up on your soulmate, too. That’s how you find each other.”

As soon as these words leave the teacher’s lips, the entire class frantically begins writing on themselves. You cut to the chase rather quickly and write ‘hi, soulmate what’s your name?’ on your arm, and you’ll never forget feeling your heart about to jump out of your chest as you eagerly waited for their reply.

You’ll also never forget crying your eyes out after receiving the words ‘fuck off’ in return.

You’re so upset that the teacher sends you home, and your parents do their best to comfort you, a red-faced mess of snot and tears, until you finally cry yourself to sleep.

When you wake up the next morning, you stare at the two words written on your left forearm until you see them even when you close your eyes.

At that moment, you promise yourself that you’ll never give up.

And you don’t; at least, not until college.

In the years between, you do your best to contact your soulmate and attempt to form a bond. Sometimes they ignore you. Other times they write more expletives that you have to cover with a bandage.

When you get a cellphone for the first time, you stupidly offer them your number and in return, you begin receiving spam calls from various companies and scammers alike. Your parents are furious, but they see the defeated look on your face and hold their tongues.

That’s when you begin to lose hope; when you stop writing friendly greetings on your arm. Gone are the ‘good morning’s and ‘how are you’s that you often bear on your skin, greetings that have never once received replies. Meanwhile, you’re forced to deal with your friends swooning about the ‘I love you’s on their arms in someone else’s handwriting, painfully reminding you of the fact that all you’ve ever gotten from your soulmate are variations of ‘leave me the fuck alone’.

You only retaliate one time, and it marks the end of your would-be relationship with your supposed true love.  

Furious at years of rejection, you angrily draw multiple penises of different sizes on your arms, legs, even your  _neck_  in red, permanent marker. You make sure to do this in the middle of a weekday, hoping your soulmate is out in public where everyone can see them.

Sure enough, furious messages demanding you erase the crude doodles at once immediately begin to blossom on your left arm.

Obviously, you ignore them.

The ink lasts about a week, and the whole time you receive increasingly aggressive threats, all of which you laugh at with a heavy heart. 

After that, you stop trying.

Even when your soulmate attempts to reach out a few years later while you’re in police academy, you dismiss them in the same way they’ve done to you for most your life. 

In your mind, you don’t even have a soulmate, and that’s exactly what you tell anyone who bothers to ask.

* * *

When you’re transferred to Detroit Central Police Station because of a shortage of personnel, you fully expect to be, well, needed. You truly believe that you’ll be out investigating crime scenes and arresting criminals all day, because a shortage means there’s not enough people doing that, right?

Wrong.

For the past few days, all you’ve done is sort through paperwork and go on donut runs. Since the Android Revolution last November, the DPD has stopped using androids and so nobody is around to do the meaningless tasks anymore. Obviously that leaves you, the most recent transfer with little experience, to pick up the slack.

The last thing you expect to happen while you’re working there is to meet your fucking soulmate, the very person who’s been silently tormenting you throughout your life, but you really should have known better because the world has never once given you a break. 

“Do you mind taking these files to Captain Allen?”

Had you known what you do now, you probably would have declined what at first appeared to be a simple, friendly request by Officer Tina Chen.

But at the present time, you have absolutely no idea, and you foolishly agree with a bright, “Sure!”

Tina sighs in relief and you immediately take note of the dark bags under her eyes. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

You grin at her and push yourself to your feet, accepting the thin, transparent tablet she hands you. “No problem. Where do I find him?”

“Fourth floor.” 

“SWAT? Nice.”

Tina rolls her eyes. “You say that now, but wait till you actually meet him.”

“That bad?” you ask with a small laugh. You’ve heard of the SWAT captain a few times before but you haven’t personally met him yet. From what you’ve gathered, the man is ridiculously good at his job, but he isn’t the most approachable.

“Something like that.”

“Well, don’t worry. I’ve dealt with my share of assholes,” you sigh, immediately thinking about your soulmate. Of course, you don't plan on actually sharing that with her; not everybody needs to know your love-life is so fucked beyond repair. 

Tina shakes her head at you and with a final grin, you head to the elevators to find Captain Allen.

* * *

When you arrive on the fourth floor, the first thing you notice is how cold and lifeless the SWAT department seems to be. It’s eerily silent and you shiver at the feeling of the walls closing in on you. Rounding the corner, you blink in surprise at what looks like an exact copy of the homicide department. The layout is almost exactly the same as downstairs, from the pairs of desks pressed together to the break room in the corner. Unlike Fowler’s office, which is smack in the middle of the floor surrounded by clear, glass windows, the interior of the SWAT captain’s office is hidden from view by thick blinds.

Even more unusual is the fact that no-one's around. The desks are empty, computers shut down, as if the team has vanished entirely.

Nervously, you make your way to the captain’s office, doing your best to ignore the abandoned desks. You really don’t like the atmosphere up here and you have no desire to linger. However, when you get to the captain’s door, you see that the lights are off inside. 

You groan.

Just as you turn around to head back downstairs and inform Tina that the SWAT captain is nowhere to be found, you hear a short burst of noise and your head snaps up. You scan the vicinity, your eyes landing on a door left slightly ajar next to the break room. 

The conference room.

 _At least they’re here_ , you think to yourself as you make your way over. You peek through the small gap and sure enough, you find the missing SWAT unit. 

They seem to be in the middle of a meeting. From what you can hear, some sort of safety training, or at least a refresher of one. The guys don’t appear to be listening either way, as you can see a few of them on their phones, and others quietly whispering in the back. Hell, one of them is napping in the corner, but you suppose for trained professionals like themselves, this meeting is hardly necessary. 

You can’t really tell which of them is Captain Allen, and there’s no way in hell you’re going to barge in just to deliver some files that may not even be that important, so you decide to come back some other time.

Then your eyes catch sight of one particular face.

For a second, you stop breathing.

Strong jawline. Sharp cheekbones. Pursed, full lips that shouldn't belong to any man. Your breath hitches a little when he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. He’s wearing a black hoodie, but you bet your life that he’s ripped to the bone underneath. 

Your face is no doubt bright red at this point, and you’re a little embarrassed that simply looking at a man can reduce you to such a mess. Not to mention, there’s a chance he’ll turn around and catch you gawking at him but you cannot stop staring for the life of you.   

Who knew that the man of your dreams was working only a few floors above you this whole time?

He suddenly scratches his nose and you almost sigh at the cuteness. You _want_ him despite not knowing anything about him. It’s foolish but you’re just…inexplicably drawn to him, as if…

The SWAT member uncrosses his arms and your heart leaps in surprise at the sudden movement, but luckily he doesn’t glance in your direction. Instead, he does the most peculiar thing.

He pulls out a pen and starts writing on his left palm.

The look of confusion that crosses your face quickly morphs into one of understanding when he holds his hand out to the men next to him. They snicker at whatever he’s written and shake their heads at him.

You’ve stopped paying attention to them, however, because you’re too busy blankly staring at your own palm, which is tingling as though you’ve been burned.

_is it almost fucking over?_

Your stomach drops and you almost lose your grip on the tablet.

It’s been years since either you or your soulmate has written to the other. What are the chances that in the exact moment this random SWAT member scribbles on his left palm, you immediately find a message on the same exact location?

Impulsively, you walk over to the closest desk and tug open the top drawer in search of something to write with. Certainly a breach of privacy on your end, but you’re not really thinking right now, not with your heartbeat thumping in your ears as if you're about to disarm a bomb. You find a marker underneath some loose papers and draw a line down the side of your neck. After returning the writing tool to its rightful place, you head back to the conference room and gently nudge the door open a little wider so you can really see—

The tablet slips from your hands and the loud _thud_ it makes on the glossy floor has the entire room looking at the door.

Captain Allen quickly gets to his feet to inspect the disturbance, but both you and the tablet are long gone by then. He scratches the back of his head in confusion before firmly shutting the door. When he sinks back into his seat, he’s once again bombarded with questions about the thick, black line that has suddenly appeared on the side of his neck, but he only shrugs at the inquiries. 

He has no fucking idea.


	2. Evasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like a villain in the superhero movies that you would always see on television as a child, the SWAT captain swivels his seat to face you.
> 
> For the first time in your life, you officially meet your soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna say thank you guys so much for the very kind feedback! It makes me happy so many people like Captain Allen haha he's honestly my absolute fav <3

You practically trip over your own feet as you stumble out of the elevator and the tablet almost goes flying from your shaky hands once again. Hugging it tightly, you lean against the wall and close your eyes, trying to rid the image of the handsome SWAT member rubbing the side of his neck from your mind.

It still feels so _surreal_. Is this the real reason you were transferred to this particular precinct then? Because the universe truly enjoys watching you squirm?

"Are you alright?" a voice cuts into your despondent thoughts and your eyes snap open. A relieved sigh escapes your lips at the sight of the only android still employed by the DPD and suddenly, a brilliant idea crosses your mind. 

“Connor, can you do me a solid?”

The android blinks at you, a little perturbed that you didn't answer his question. Not that you purposely chose to ignore it, but right now you're not really in the mood to pretend that everything is okay because it's fucking _not_. “Of course.”

“Can you please take this tablet to Captain Allen in about two hours? I—I have a lot of paperwork to finish,” you say lamely, doing your best not to outwardly show your distress.

Connor examines you for what feels like several minutes—though it’s only just a few seconds—before nodding and holding his hand out. “Not a problem.”

You beam at the android and thank him profusely before speed-walking away to the bathroom, wanting nothing more than to get rid of the mark on your neck, a mark that ties your existence to a certain SWAT member upstairs. 

Meanwhile, Connor stares at your retreating back, wondering what you’re trying so desperately to hide.

* * *

A week passes by without another incident and for a second, you get your hopes up and assume that the universe has finally decided to cut you some slack.

Then the other shoe drops.

You’ve barely stepped inside the break room when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn around in surprise and grin in relief at Tina’s friendly face.

“Good morning!” she greets you brightly, the same way she always does every time she sees you. The two of you have become rather close in the short amount of time you’ve been here, and you're grateful for that because she makes the workday infinitely more bearable. You follow her to the coffeemaker and lean against the counter while she grabs mugs for the both of you. 

“Slept well?” you ask, mainly because you can see that she actually looks refreshed for once. 

She laughs. “A full eight hours.”

You think of the measly four hours of sleep you’ve been getting the past few days and sigh. “Lucky.”

Truly, you adore Tina. She’s one of your favorite people here in the precinct and you would easily take a bullet for her.

Unfortunately, she’s also the same person whose words singlehandedly shove you deeper into the grave that you’ve unwittingly dug for yourself. “Oh yeah, Fowler told me to let you know that you’re being moved to SWAT.”

It’s a good thing you haven’t started making your drink yet because you’re certain you would have dropped it at Tina’s words. You take a good half a minute to compose yourself while she adds creamer to her coffee before finally managing to speak. “Did he say why?”

“Not really. If I had to guess, it’s probably ‘cause the guys don’t have time to do their paperwork.”

“Nobody else can do it?” you mutter, immediately thinking of literally every other person in the fucking station. Tina only gives you a weird look and shakes her head. 

“No, sorry. Usually we have androids do that kind of stuff, but, well…”

You absolutely have no problem with androids getting their freedom. Really. You just wish that they could have waited a few more years to revolt, preferably after you'd settled down with someone who’d also rejected their soulmate.

Feeling slightly nauseous, you wordlessly return your unused mug back onto the shelf. There’s no way you’ll be able to keep anything down right now, and if you’re going to be working with the SWAT team and your _soulmate_ of all people, then you’ll need to keep a low profile; obviously, you can’t be throwing up all over the place. You thank Tina for relaying Fowler’s message and, with a tired sigh, walk out onto the floor to grab the few personal items you have on your temporary desk.

You wonder how long it’ll take for everything else to fall apart.

* * *

The SWAT department is as cold and unwelcoming as ever, but at least the guys are at their desks this time around, the floor buzzing with life. You quickly realize that you don’t know where to go or whom to report to, and you regret leaving Tina in such a hurry without bothering to ask for further instructions.

After standing there in contemplation for several minutes, all the while receiving weird glances from various SWAT members, you decide to take a chance and go to Captain Allen since he’s likely the one who requested help in the first place. Of course, you’re careful to scan the room for any sign of that handsome, infuriating fucker with the  _audacity_ to be your soulmate, but you don’t see him anywhere. Either he hasn't arrived yet or maybe in one of the other rooms; regardless, you hope he’s suffering as much as you are.

Unlike the first time you were here, the lights in the captain’s office are actually on. The door is wide open, which is surprising to you because Fowler keeps his tightly shut at all times. You briefly wonder if that means Captain Allen is more laid-back, but considering what you've heard people say about him, you honestly doubt it. Ultimately, it's none of your concern because you probably won’t be interacting too much with the man if you’re only there to do his damn _paperwork_.

You stick your head into the office but he doesn’t see you as his chair is facing the other way. He seems to be examining a large digital map of Detroit behind him—or at least pretending to. Nervously, you knock on the door a few times to announce your presence. “Captain Allen?”

Like a villain in the superhero movies that you would always see on television as a child, the SWAT captain swivels his seat to face you.

For the first time in your life, you officially meet your soulmate.

* * *

The human body is certainly something to behold.

Everyone brags about the complexity and intricate designs of android systems, but nothing can possibly top how mind-blowing human physiology truly is. Imagine, it just takes two cells to create an entire organism that is capable of absolutely _conquering_ the earth and its resources; an organism that, despite being the most advanced life form in natural existence, can completely _shut down_ because of the dumbest of reasons, like meeting one’s jackass of a soulmate, for example. 

Un- _fucking_ -believable.

However, you're not the only one in shock.

Captain Allen is equally as confused as you are. For one, he’s been asking you what you needed for the past few minutes, but not only have you not replied to him yet, you’re just gaping at him as if he’s grown a second head. On top of that, he’s surprisingly not disgruntled by your unannounced intrusion, which normally he’d be chewing anyone else out for. It's hard to explain, but there’s something about you standing there that feels... oddly calming... as though you’re not meant to be anywhere except there with him.  

What the fuck, right?

He finally gets to his feet with every intention of walking over to you to check if you’re still breathing—you honestly don’t look like you are and he’s not exactly in the mood to deal with you potentially dropping dead in his office—but the abrupt movement startles you and you jerk backwards. 

Your eyes widen when you see him watching you like you’ve just realized he’s right there and you suddenly remember where you are and what you came in for.

Without really thinking, you practically yell, “I’m here to do paperwork!”

Outside, several pairs of eyes turn to stare at the commotion you’re making but you don’t care, too captivated by your ridiculously attractive soulmate. Captain Allen blinks at your unexpected outburst, momentarily stunned.

Finally, he clears his throat and glares at you. “Don’t yell in my office.”

You’re painfully reminded of being reprimanded by your parents and you look down in embarrassment. “Sorry.” 

You don’t see this, but Allen’s face softens as he regards your wary expression. Interestingly enough, he doesn’t realize it either.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him examining you and you immediately flush. If Allen notices this, he chooses not to say anything. He drops back to his seat and motions to the empty chairs on the opposite side of his desk. “Well, sit down.”

Part of you wants to excuse yourself and submit your resignation to Fowler, and another part wants to reveal your identity and give your soulmate a piece of your mind. In the end, you acknowledge that both are terrible choices and you do as you’re told instead.

“We don’t have an extra desk for you to use,” Allen begins after a beat of silence, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. He smirks at you and you have to remind yourself that you _hate_ him and _no_ , that urge to pounce on him is one of hatred, _not_ desire like your mind thinks it is.

There's no way you can ever want such an insensitive prick, after all.

“Should I go elsewhere then?” you ask hopefully, already fantasizing about your nice, simple desk down at homicide. However, Allen quickly shakes his head, crushing your short-lived dreams.

“It’s too much hassle to have you working on a different level.”

“Oh…”

Allen raises an eyebrow at you. “Is there a reason you’re so opposed to working here?”

 _‘Cause you’re a fuckin’ asshole,_ you think moodily to yourself, but outwardly you only flash him a pained smile. “Not opposed to be working with you at all, Captain.”

The man simply scoffs at your response before unceremoniously sliding a thick stack of folders and loose papers across the desk. “Then get started on these. We’re a week behind and I want them done by tomorrow.”

Someone with less self-control than you would have probably grabbed the heaviest folder and thrown it at Allen's face.

You almost become that someone.

Gritting your teeth, you move to gather the papers and get the fuck out of there but Allen suddenly slaps a hand on top of the files, holding them in place. “You work in here.” 

Not for the first time that day, you find yourself gaping at him. “In…here?”

“I’m usually out anyway and there’s no other place to put you.”

“I need a desk then,” you say in disbelief, too horrified by the recent turn of events to really curse your luck and the universe that never seems to give you any.

“Just use mine. It’s big enough.” Captain Allen shrugs, looking so unbothered by the whole situation that you wonder if it’s truly normal for someone who’s practically a secretary at this point to be sharing a desk with their own boss.

“What about a computer?”

Silently, Allen reaches down and retrieves what appears to be a very large tablet from one of the drawers. However, when he passes it over, you realize that it’s actually a laptop, one that appears as though it hasn’t been used in _years._ Discouraged, you mumble a word of thanks before getting yourself sorted out, knowing damn well that there's no way around this. 

While you wait for the laptop to finish updating, you begin scanning the many files in front of you. Not even a few minutes later, Allen pushes himself to his feet and you instinctively glance up at him. He simply gives you a deadpan stare before walking towards the door. 

You swiftly turn away, and only after you hear him shut the door do you let yourself slump forward and drop your head in defeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also stan Captain Allen on [tumblr](https://thedevianthunterrk800.tumblr.com) !


	3. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re ashamed to admit you can’t look away, and when his eyes shift up to see you staring at him, he stops chewing and swallows.
> 
> “What?” he demands, quickly taking a sip of his coffee to wash down the piece of fried dough he won’t admit is stuck in the back of his throat. You only shake your head, averting his scrutinizing glare, and return to filling out the reports.
> 
> He’s exactly your type and you absolutely hate him for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thicc chapter bc we gotta get the plot going lol this is way longer than I was expecting but honestly this fic was self-indulgent to begin with.
> 
> Also I got the title of this chapter from that one GTA V mission <3 I just really liked the title when I was playing the game idk why lol ok here we go

The first few days working as the SWAT unit’s unofficial secretary go about as well as you expect.

Meaning, they don’t go very well at all.

There’s so much paperwork to do and dozens of reports to fill out, and Captain Allen has absolutely no problem dumping them all on you. Not only do you have recent cases to work on, you’re also stuck fixing the files that the guys attempted—and failed—to complete. You’re honestly surprised that the android previously in charge of this workload didn’t become deviant just having to deal with all this bullshit and the captain in charge of it all.

The day after what you mentally refer to as Execution Day, you once again find yourself returning to possibly the _worst_ floor in the station at precisely seven in the morning. Even Fowler never asked you to come in this early, but then, Fowler isn’t necessarily the biggest dickwad in all of Michigan, if not the entire goddamn world.

Still, you can’t exactly complain, considering that you’ve barely finished half the reports that Allen supposedly wants you to complete by the end of the day. Can you imagine? They’re behind at least a week and he only gives you less than _two days_ to get them done.

The thought is enough to get you riled up once more, but you quickly shake your head. _No_. You refuse to let your soulmate get under your skin any longer. You’ve already spent a good chunk of your life sulking over him, and for what? He’s every inch the piece of shit you predicted he would be.

With a cheerful ding that doesn’t match your dejected spirit, the elevator doors slowly open, _just like the gates of hell_ , you muse to yourself. Immediately, the lights flicker on, illuminating the silent hallway. You swallow nervously and grip the strap of your bag tighter as you slowly make your way to the main office space, your footsteps echoing against the bare walls.

It doesn't come as a shock to find that you’re the only one there, but you’re still not prepared to be met with complete darkness when you round the corner. Clearly the upper floors of the station aren’t as well equipped as homicide because the lights don’t immediately turn on at your arrival like they would downstairs. Huffing, you tug your phone out from your back pocket to activate the lights.

With the room finally visible, you are again reminded of how alone you are at that moment, all too similar to the very first time you set foot on this floor. You can’t help but notice the abundance of desks around you, especially the few that seem to lack any personal touch. These are likely not in use, which makes you wonder why on earth Allen insists that you work in his office with him.

Does he also know the truth then? Is he just _trying_ to break you even more?

You huff, barely resisting the urge to write ‘fuck you’ somewhere on your arm, maybe even across your chest.

The urge only grows stronger when you attempt to enter the captain’s office and find the door locked. You tug at the handle several times as though making sure that the fucker truly _forgot_ to leave the door unlocked for you like he said he would. Alas, said door stubbornly remains shut, and you remain sleep-deprived, standing alone on the fourth floor two hours before everyone else gets there.

 _Suck a moldy dick, Allen_ , you think angrily as you scroll through the list of contacts on your phone. It suddenly hits you that you don’t actually have the man’s number and you almost kick the glass door in frustration. Of _fucking_ course. He hardly spoke to you yesterday, hardly gave you any instruction, as if he expected you to miraculously know the inner workings of the SWAT department on your own. _Of course_ he didn’t bother to give you his contact information.

Fully swearing up a storm, you drop your bag next to the door before marching over to the break room with clenched fists. There’s no point going back home now that you’ve driven all the way here, and it’s not like you can get started on the reports when all the files are locked in the fucking office and you have no way of contacting Allen to let you in. Hell, he probably wouldn’t show up even if you somehow found a way to.

Luckily, the coffeemaker is exactly the same model as the one downstairs, so you have no problem preparing yourself a nice, steaming cup of joe. You’re pleased to find that it’s much stronger than what they have at homicide, and you make a mental note to let Tina know later on. _If_ you ever see Tina again.

Your face drops as you think this, realizing that you’ll be stuck in an enclosed area with strangers and not one friend to make the day more bearable. As much as you want to socialize with the guys and potentially gain some allies, you simply have too much work to do. Not to mention, you’re practically going to be _isolated_ in the captain’s office most of the day anyway.

 _You can always make friends with Captain Allen!_ you say sarcastically to yourself, rolling your eyes. Yeah, _right_. Like you want anything to do with your accursed soulmate…

Sighing, you walk over to the single couch pressed against the wall and place your half-finished cup on the table in front of it. You consider turning the television on to fill the silence but opt to rest your eyes instead. Stretching out on the surprisingly-comfortable couch with a groan, you stare blankly at the gray ceiling above you. The day’s barely started and you’re already off to an awful start, but some things can’t be helped.

Your eyelids begin to droop.

For some reason, the last thing on your mind is Captain Allen.

* * *

The sound of approaching footsteps jerk you awake from your light slumber, and you force yourself into a sitting position with a poorly-contained yawn. You turn around, bleary-eyed, and almost outwardly grimace in distaste when you see the man of your nightmares standing at the entrance of the break room, arms crossed. 

“Didn’t I say to get started at seven?”

“Didn’t you say you’ll keep the door unlocked so I can come in early?” you snarl back without missing a beat, giving him a scathing look that catches him off-guard. He probably isn’t expecting your less-than-professional tone of voice considering his position compared to yours, but you don’t really care about that right now. You woke up early despite staying up through the night to make a dent in the reports and then drove in the freezing cold with no heater because your car is a piece of junk two miles away from completely breaking down just to get to work and find that you can’t even _start_ on the mountains of paperwork on your desk because your boss locked them all in his office and left you no means of entrance. To say you aren’t in the mood would be a goddamn understatement.

After a semi-intense stare-down, Allen uncrosses his arms and turns around. He walks away wordlessly—no doubt to unlock the door to his office like he was supposed to last night—and you scoff. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You push yourself to your feet and stretch your arms over your head. A quick glance at the digital clock underneath the television on the adjacent wall confirms that it’s a little before eight and you bristle at the idea that you could have spent another hour in bed. Silently mourning your lack of proper sleep, you empty the cold remainder of your coffee into the sink and toss the cup away.

As you walk out onto the main floor, you scan the room for any sign of other officers, anybody who can possibly distract Allen and spare you the awkwardness of being caged in a small, enclosed space with the grumpy man. Unfortunately, you only see empty desks and one single figure pointedly holding his office door open for you.

Throwing one last annoyed glare at the ceiling above where you imagine the universe looking down at you with glee, you quietly enter the captain’s office with a small nod at your soulmate, who immediately shuts the door before following you to your shared desk.

It seems that Allen took the liberty of depositing your bag onto your designated chair. Although you probably should thank him for that, you remind yourself that he _did_ have you come in two hours early without any way to start the work he so desperately claims you need to have done. The last thing he deserves at the moment is gratitude, manners be damned.

The office is silent as you log into the system on the outdated laptop and you begin browsing through the files on the top of the stack while waiting for your unfinished reports to load. Neither of you say anything for a good few minutes, normally an awkward situation had you not hated the guy’s fucking guts. Yeah, he’s pretty handsome and _sure_ , you admit that his eyes are the most brilliant shade of blue you’ve ever seen, but that doesn’t excuse him for being a complete bastard, one who doesn’t deserve your friendship at that.

Allen abruptly stands up after about five minutes of dead silence. This time, you will yourself not to look at him as he walks out of the office, but you do turn your head slightly to watch him stalk back towards the break room through the clear glass walls, likely to help himself to the coffee that _you_ brewed because _you came in two fucking hours early_ for nothing.

You begin typing with a bit more force than necessary but you can’t help it. It’s not _fair_. This is an absolute waste of your time. There are untouched murder cases that you could be tackling, but instead you’re up in the SWAT department playing fucking secretary for a man who made you cry yourself to sleep on more nights than you can count.

Half an hour goes by and finally the other officers begin to arrive. They don’t seem to notice you alone in the captain’s office, however, and immediately head towards the break room where Allen is likely hiding. You scowl, imagining him lounging on the couch, unbothered and relaxed, while you’re slaving away on reports that you shouldn’t have to do because it’s really _not_ your job.

Naturally, you’re a little shocked when Allen suddenly arrives carrying a large green box that he silently places on the empty space beside your laptop.

Donuts.

“Those are for you,” he clarifies after you glance at him uncertainly, and your eyes widen a little at his words. For you? He was gone this whole time because he went out to buy you donuts?

“Oh, uhm. Thank you,” you murmur, a genuine smile gracing your lips.

“Sure,” Allen replies in that gravelly voice of his that simultaneously makes you melt and want to kick his face in. He returns his attention back to the large screen in front of him, a hint of a grin on his face. 

Your heart skips a beat at the sight and, flushing slightly, you lift the lid up to grab yourself a fresh, warm donut, courtesy of your soulmate. Shyly, you slide the box over to his side, offering him one of the many sweets. He swipes a plain glazed donut without turning away from the screen and quickly takes a bite. You’re ashamed to admit you can’t look away, and when his eyes shift up to see you staring at him, he stops chewing and swallows.

“What?” he demands, quickly taking a sip of his coffee to wash down the piece of fried dough he won’t admit is stuck in the back of his throat. You only shake your head, averting his scrutinizing glare, and return to filling out the reports.

He’s exactly your type and you absolutely hate him for it.

* * *

So Captain Allen does one nice thing for you. It's not necessarily a big deal. In fact, you would argue that he owed you the donuts in the first place, so it’s not really like he did something out of the goodness of his own heart. 

This is your _soulmate_ you’re talking about; he’s the same guy who purposely gave your number to spam callers and at one point wrote that he never wanted to see you for as long as he lived. There’s absolutely _no way_ that he’s actually a decent guy under the surface, right?

_Right?_

Three days later, your car finally determines that it’s lived life to its full potential and stalls in the middle of the parking garage at your apartment complex. You groan and slam your fists against the steering wheel a few times in anger before getting out of the vehicle and popping the hood open. Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do other than have it towed to the junkyard and sell it for parts. However, you don’t have the time for that right now as it’s already getting late and you’re exhausted from the long workday, so you decide to call maintenance to assist you in moving your car away from the flow of traffic. Luckily, a friendly neighbor and one of his buddies offer to help you push the metal deathtrap into a vacant parking spot before you can even make the call.

You take a taxi to work the next day, but that’s really only a temporary solution. Cab fare isn’t exactly cheap and you’re not making enough to dedicate a good portion of your paycheck just for that. You’ll probably end up taking the bus until you get your automobile situation—or lack thereof—figured out.

Predictably, you’re too distracted by all this to pay too much attention to work, and so you miss the concerned glances Captain Allen spares your way as you gloomily fill out reports. Like he told you earlier, he’s rarely in the office and today is no exception. As much as you enjoy not being around him, you can’t help but feel even worse being left alone in the office without anyone to talk to; Allen may be a dick but at least he listens to you sometimes.

Not that you’ll ever _admit_ to actually wanting to spend time with your soulmate.

The day goes by uneventfully and you’re almost disappointed to see it end. At work you can keep yourself busy and your mind blank; once you get home, no doubt you’ll just mope around the apartment thinking about your dead car and the long, icy trek to the bus station in the morning.

You lock up Allen’s office with the key that he thankfully gave you two days ago and then head down to the parking lot. Although it’s relatively chilly outside, you don’t exactly enjoy the idea of sitting in the waiting room where everyone can see you on their way out and ask why you’re still at the station instead of heading home. Shivering, you pull out your phone to call an automated taxi, and almost drop the device when you hear a familiar voice right in your ear.

“What are you doing?”

“Fuck!” you hiss, fumbling to grab your phone with your frozen fingers. You look up to glare at the amused face of none other than Captain Allen, appearing completely unbothered by the freezing Detroit air.

“Were you calling a taxi?” he asks with genuine curiosity, causing your cheeks to heat up in embarrassment. You don’t reply and bite your lip, turning away from his prying gaze. Why is it that the man is gone most of the day, but shows up at the exact second you don’t want him to? It’s as if he _lives_ to humiliate you.

Maybe _that’s_ the real reason you two are soulmates.

“Shouldn’t you be heading home, Captain?” you sigh when you realize that he hasn't left you be yet, earning you a hum of approval from the man.

“I guess,” he agrees thoughtfully, and to your shock, he suddenly tugs your bag from your shoulders, throwing the strap over one of his own. “Well, let’s get going then.”

“Wh—hey! What are you doing?” you demand as you jog to keep up with him. He simply offers you a sideways smile and you once again find yourself unable to look away. The effect he has on you truly is infuriating.

“Heading home.”

“You took my bag.”

“I did.”

“…why?”

Allen sighs, stopping next to a dated black sedan and opening the back door. He drops your bag in seat along with his own before slamming the door shut. When you make no indication of getting into the car, he simply groans in exasperation. “Look, it’s cold and we both want to get out of here. I’ll drop you off at your place.”

“You don’t have to—” you begin to protest, but Allen quickly cuts you off.

“I really don’t care what you have to say. Get your ass in here or I’m taking your bag.” With a satisfied smirk that leaves your mouth hanging open, he gets into his vehicle, closing the door behind him. Feeling rather helpless but equally as relieved, you walk over to the other side and climb into the passenger seat. The heater is on at full-blast and you close your eyes as you bask in the warmth.

You hear Allen chuckle beside you and you turn to face him, slightly sheepish. “Hey, thank you for this.”

“It’s not a problem.” He shrugs, handing you his phone to input your address. You do so with shaking hands; if he sees this, he doesn’t say anything. As he easily backs out of the parking space, you gently melt into the seat, feeling inexplicably at ease. 

After a few minutes of silence, Allen clears his throat. “So, did your car break down, or something?”

“Oh, yeah. Just last night.” You look down at your hands laced together on your lap, biting your lip. “I thought she had a few more years left in her but I guess not.”

“I’ve had this car since 2020, I think.” Allen grins, eyes staring straight ahead at the mildly-busy road. You lift your head up in surprise, shamelessly gaping at him now.

“What are you doing with an eighteen-year-old car?”

He only shrugs, obviously amused at the disbelief in your tone. “I like it. Plus, I never trusted any of that self-driving car bullshit.”

Laughing, you subconsciously lean closer to him. “You scared of technology, Captain?”

“No, I’m just not fucking stupid. You saw what happened with the androids, didn’t you?”

“They became self-aware, yeah.”

“Yeah,” Allen mutters darkly, and you shift uncomfortably at the sudden change in atmosphere. Again, the car falls silent, but this time neither of you speak until he’s pulling into your parking garage, stopping in one of the spaces.

“I really appreciate you dropping me off, Captain,” you say gratefully, reaching behind to grab your bag from the backseat.

Allen snorts at the formality. “You can call me David when we’re not at the station.”

“Oh, okay. Uhm, thanks for the ride then, David.” When he turns to look at you with bright eyes, you feel your heart loudly drumming against your ribcage. Something about saying his first name has you beaming like the biggest fool in the world but at that moment, sitting next to David Allen in his almost two-decade-old car, you couldn’t care less.

“Anytime.”

With a final smile, you step out of the sedan and gently shut the door. You move away to allow the man some room to back up without grazing you, expecting him to drive off quickly. To your surprise, he only rolls his window down.

“Hey,” he calls, and you don’t hesitate to walk back over to him. “Since you don’t have a car, I can pick you up in the morning.”

“I can’t ask you to do that!”

“You have all those reports to finish, right? Can’t risk you showing up late ‘cause you couldn’t find a taxi.”

“I’ll be fine,” you insist, but then Allen gives you a hard look that shuts you up instantly. It’s the same kind of look that he uses to silence his squad during particularly chaotic situations.

A look of pure _authority_.

“I’m picking you up right here tomorrow at six-fifty. No objections.”

You purse your lips, drawing the faintest of smiles from him. 

One that would no doubt become your downfall.

“Fine.”

You're _fucked_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I say Daddy you say Allen !


	4. Uncertainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allen laughs without humor, straightening in his seat once again before grabbing something from the desk. Your heart stops when you hear the click of a pen and you almost reach over to swat the writing tool from his hand when he hovers the tip over his left forearm. He hesitates and for a split second, you think he’s changed his mind.
> 
> Then he begins to write, and you feel the all-too familiar—and embarrassingly pleasant—burn on your own skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic hurts me but in a good way. 
> 
> Also, really, I can't thank you guys enough for the lovely feedback! :')

You don’t really think too much about the recent turn of events that has you spending significantly more time with Captain Allen than professionally acceptable, and truthfully, you’re foolish not to. 

After all, it’s not simply by mere  _coincidence_  that you were transferred to this particular station out of the many in Detroit. It’s definitely not by  _chance_  that this occurred right after the Android Revolution, which left the DPD understaffed and in need of less experienced officers to pick up the slack.

Certainly, it’s not a  _fluke_  that the SWAT department required the most aid, and that the captain is the very same one whom you're supposedly destined to be with. 

But you have to admit, it’s just your fucking  _luck_  that your car broke down in the middle of winter, leaving you at the mercy of said captain.

Anybody with eyes can clearly see that this is an act of fate. It’s obvious that the universe is finally making its move, nudging your life towards the direction of your soulmate’s. There's no denying that it's truly meant to be.

Has been since the day you were born.

Regardless, you’re stubborn to a fault and you respect yourself too much to give your soulmate another chance. You don’t care how determined the universe is to bring you two together; you’ve already made up your mind, and you’re equally as determined to ensure that you  _never_  spend the rest of your life with Captain Allen.

“Here you go.” 

Unfortunately for you, the man has a knack for making you question your seemingly-unbreakable resolve. 

You accept the hot breakfast sandwich with a stammer of thanks, using your free hand to buckle your seatbelt. Allen takes a bite of his own as he pulls out of the parking structure, one hand on the wheel and the other loosely holding the sandwich near his mouth. As you unwrap yours, you can’t help but watch him out of the corner of your eye. There’s something oddly intimate about him picking you up and having breakfast together on the way to work that has you questioning the exact nature of your relationship with him. 

Interestingly enough, he seems just as distracted as you are. The car ride is thankfully silent but not uncomfortably so. He glances at you a few times to make sure you’re eating and you try not to read into that.

When the two of you finally arrive at the station, you crumple the empty wrapper and collect all the trash in the greasy brown paper bag that the food was packaged in. Allen smiles at you in thanks and you grin back. After tossing the paper bag in one of the trash cans scattered around the parking lot, you head back to the car to wait for him.

“Thank you again for the ride and food,” you say as he opens the rear door on the driver's side.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies over his shoulder, and you look down to avoid staring at his backside when he leans inside to grab his belongings. The walk from the mostly-empty parking lot to the front entrance of the station is filled with small-talk, distracting you from the fact that a few of your coworkers just saw you getting out of the same car as your boss with a grin on your face as you listen to him complain about his broken heater at home that he has no time to fix.

In fact, you don’t even stop to consider how suspicious the whole thing appears until you step into the station and feel a hand on your shoulder.

“Good morning!”

You can’t possibly smile wider.  _Tina_. “Fuck, I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I know. I’ve missed you,” Tina laughs, glad to see that you seem to be doing well. A little  _too_  well, if anything. She smirks, looking up at the man next to you. “Good morning, Captain.”

“Good morning,” Allen replies with a nod. He shoves his hands in his pockets and motions to the elevator, blue eyes landing on you. “I’m going to head up.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry, Tina—”

Allen clears his throat, effectively silencing your apology. “You don’t have to come up right away.”

“Huh?”

“Stay and chat. You have a few minutes.” Shrugging his shoulders, Allen turns around and leaves the two of you standing in front of the reception desk. You gape at his retreating back for a few seconds before Tina lets out a low whistle, jolting you back to reality.

“So…” she begins in teasing tone, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “You and the captain, huh?”

“What are you talking about?”

“C’mon. I saw you guys out there.” Tina jabs a thumb in the direction of the parking lot and the weight of her words suddenly hits you all at once.

“Wait. Wait, hold on,” you laugh nervously, raising your hands up in defense. “Hold the fuck up.”

“Did you spend the night? Was he as good as everybody says?”

“I didn’t—wait,  _what?”_ you demand in shock, your heart dropping a little as you process her second inquiry. “What do you mean ‘everybody’?”

“Well—you know, things happen around the station.” Tina shifts in discomfort, averting your questioning eyes. You look  _hurt_. She almost doesn’t want to continue. “We all sometimes go to happy hour somewhere and things get a little…intense.”

…Right. Of course. Makes sense.

He’s never been yours. You have no doubt that he’s had his fair share of relationships and flings. And why wouldn’t he? He made it crystal clear that he didn’t want to interact with you since the very beginning.  _Of course_  he wouldn’t have been waiting for you. The whole point in telling you to fuck off all those years was because he  _didn’t_  want to wait for you.

But _still_. The idea that he’s slept with a couple of people at the station makes your blood boil in what you refuse to admit is  _jealousy_. 

“Oh…”

“He hasn't officially _dated_ anyone here, though,” Tina adds quickly, as though somehow that makes everything better. And, well, you suppose it does in a way. At least you don’t have to worry about dealing with any bitter exes.

Uhm, not that you actually expect to, because you sure as fuck _aren't_  going to be dating Allen anytime soon.

Ignoring the dull ache in your chest, you force out a smile. “It’s none of my business anyway. I’m not sleeping with him or anything.”

“Ah, really?”

“Yep. My car broke down and we’re going to carpool until I get a new one. That’s…all it is.” You grip the strap of your bag tighter, steeling yourself. When you speak, your voice sounds more defeated than you care to admit. “I should get going. I have a shit-ton of reports to finish.”

Tina’s eyes soften. You don’t know why. “Of course.”

* * *

You really aren’t jealous. 

Maybe you’re a little irked, you admit, but it has  _nothing_  to do with the fact that there are a few people here in the station who have seen Captain Allen naked.

Your gut twists unpleasantly at the thought once again and you grit your teeth.

It’s not that you were expecting him to remain celibate. He’s in his forties and looks like he belongs in a fucking  _GI Joe_  catalog, the very definition of rugged masculinity. When you first laid eyes on him, you immediately assumed he was spoken for because how can he possibly  _not_  be, looking the way he does?

Yet…

He rejected you for  _years_. You’re certain that if you reached out to him now, as his soulmate, he would ignore you like always. Growing up, part of you assumed that he didn’t want a soulmate because he didn’t want anyone  _at all_ , and that helped a little in accepting his constant refusal to meet.

And now... to suddenly be hit with the fact that this whole time, he  _was_  interested in intimacy but just not with  _you_  hurt more than you expected.

Why was he so confident that he didn’t want you when he never bothered to find out who you were?

What did—no,  _does_  he have against you?

“You okay there?”

“I’m  _fine_ , Captain.”

The office has been deathly quiet since you finally arrived after your talk with Tina, surprising Allen because he fully expected you to be livelier now that your relationship with him has improved. Instead, you've remained silent, only providing one-worded replies to his attempts at conversation.

You were definitely friendlier back in the car at any rate.

“Something happen?” he asks off-handedly, pretending to read the case files displayed on his computer screen. You bite your lip as your stomach churns at the sound of his voice, one that has been haunting you since the day you first heard it.

There are about a hundred things you wish to say to your soulmate right now, yet nothing to Captain Allen. The irony is not lost on you.

Still, you're aching to know. If you somehow manage to get some questions answered, then maybe you can move past this. There’s nothing worse than feeling inadequate without a clue as to  _why._

You decide to bite the bullet, swallowing the lump in your throat. Without looking up, you mumble, “My soulmate.”

Allen’s gaze immediately shifts to your face, case files momentarily forgotten. “What?”

“My soulmate,” you repeat with more vigor. You clench your fists so hard that your nails leave crescent indents on your palm but you don’t care. “I’m having issues with him.”

Captain Allen stiffens, a flash of irritation crossing his face that you don't see. “I’m sorry to hear, but now isn’t the time to discuss personal matters.”

The iciness in his tone startles you into glancing up and you’re met with a scowl that has your face bursting into flames. Even when he’s mad, he manages to look incredibly enticing and you instinctively squeeze your legs together. “My apologies, Captain.”

The room falls silent once more and your neck prickles at the tension. In your periphery, you can see Allen grinding his teeth and glaring holes into the screen. You almost want to roll your eyes. Does he hate the idea of soulmates so much that he doesn’t even want to  _talk_  about it?

Sighing, you turn back to the task at hand, ready to begin the tedious process of sorting through evidence for one of the reports. You’ve barely opened the files when the SWAT captain speaks again, his voice much calmer than before. “What’s wrong with your soulmate?”

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling at him. “I thought now isn’t the time to discuss personal matters?”

Allen grunts, reclining in his chair with his arms crossed. “You might fuck up if you’re too distracted and I need these reports done right the first time.”

The temptation to actually roll your eyes almost becomes too much but you somehow manage to control yourself. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Just fuckin’ tell me.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Since you asked so nicely." He watches impassively as you place an elbow on the table and prop your chin in your palm, letting out let out a deep, shuddering breath. “I hate him.”

Allen is visibly stunned. You have no doubt that he wasn’t expecting you to say what you just did. “That’s it?”

“Yeah. Well, no. He’s a dick who doesn’t care about anybody except himself, but that’s nothing new.” You shrug, although you can’t wipe the smile off you face at the fact that you’re openly complaining about your soulmate  _to_  your soulmate. It’s oddly therapeutic.

“I’m sure you two will make up,” Allen dismisses, his face falling blank once again. You’re a little disappointed that he doesn’t really seem to care about your love-life because nothing would bring you greater joy than if he were to sympathize with you and grow to hate your soulmate, too. Can you imagine how funny it'll be when you finally reveal yourself to him and he realizes that  _he's_  the dickhead who's been causing you so much grief this whole time?

If only he actually gave a shit.

“We won’t, but thanks.” You return your attention back to the open folder in front of you, words tumbling from your lips before you can even stop to process them. “I’m never going to meet him anyway so it doesn’t matter.”

The moment you realize what you’ve said, you freeze and bite your tongue. You don’t dare risk looking at Allen, who has gone unusually silent and is now openly staring at you from across the desk. You tug at your collar absentmindedly, hoping he hasn’t been paying attention.

Then again, this is  _David_   _Allen_  you’re talking about.  _Of course_  he’s always paying attention.

“You've never met your soulmate?”

This time, it’s your turn to deflect the topic. You scratch the back of your head sheepishly and shrug. “I’d, uhm, rather not talk about it.”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting shy on me now.” The SWAT captain smirks, leaning forward in his seat and resting his elbows on his knees, interest piqued. You chew on your bottom lip, wondering what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“I just…it’s complicated,” you mutter lamely, wishing you hadn’t opened your big mouth. Allen makes an odd noise of disbelief that almost has you laughing.

However, what he says next wipes the grin right off your face.

“Can’t be worse than mine.”

… _what_?

“What’s wrong with yours?” you shoot back instantly, flaring up at the implication that  _you’re_  at fault here, that  _you’re_  somehow an even  _worse_  soulmate.  _The absolute nerve of this fucking man_ , you think furiously to yourself.

Allen laughs without humor, straightening in his seat once again before grabbing something from the desk. Your heart stops when you hear the click of a pen and you almost reach over to swat the writing tool from his hand when he hovers the tip over his left forearm. He hesitates and for a split second, you think he’s changed his mind.

Then he begins to write, and you feel the all-too familiar—and embarrassingly  _pleasant_ —burn on your own skin.

While Allen continues to unknowingly torture you, you discreetly undo your rolled-up sleeve and tug it all the way to your wrist. You’re convinced that he knows and is simply toying with your resolve for the umpteenth time. However, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. You manage to maintain an unimpressed façade and only raise your eyebrows at him when he finishes writing and redirects his attention to you.

“I don’t talk to mine either,” he finally says, eyeing his freshly-inked forearm with blatant distaste. You try to peek at the words on his skin but to no avail; Allen simply withdraws his arm. “I don’t know them.”

Your chest tightens painfully as you whisper, “Why?”

Something about your question and the way you said it seems to throw him off. He quickly averts your gaze, tossing the pen haphazardly back onto his desk. When he refuses to answer, you’re overcome with the urge to grab him by the collar and shake some sense into his stubborn, aggravating self because you  _need to know_ —you’ve been waiting all these years to find out  _why_ —

Why weren’t you good enough for him? Why did he always reject you without even giving you a chance?

Why didn’t he want to meet his own fucking  _soulmate_?

“It’s bullshit.”

You gape at him. Your heart stutters to a halt. “What?”

“It’s bullshit,” Allen repeats, louder this time. When he raises his eyes to meet yours, you almost gasp at the intensity of his glare. “Why do I have to be with someone just because some force up there says so?”

Your mouth moves but no words come out. They get caught in your throat.

“I can’t get into a decent relationship because everyone wants to end up with their soulmate. They think I’m a freak because I actually want to fall in love instead of accepting whoever the fuck this person is.”

“What’s wrong with that?” you demand shakily, rising to your feet and slamming your hands on the desk, the raw emotion in your voice catching Captain Allen off-guard. “What's so wrong about wanting to be with your soulmate?”

Abruptly, he stands as well, sending his chair flying into the wall of shelves behind him. Neither of you notice the resounding crash it makes. “You don’t know who my soulmate is.”

“Neither do you!” you yell back, pouring years of frustration and heartbreak into these three words. You barely restrain yourself from tackling the man to the ground and slamming his head against the floor multiple times. Allen growls at your outburst, his teeth bared in rage. 

“That’s the fucking  _point_ ,” he spits out venomously, and without another word, he grabs his phone off the desk and stalks out of the office, slamming the door shut behind him and rattling the glass walls in the process. 

You collapse into your seat, shaking so badly that you can barely hold your left arm steady enough to read the words that Allen left you.

_it’s not going to happen_

For the first time in years, you cry over your soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the angst y'all.
> 
> My [tumblr](https://thedevianthunterrk800.tumblr.com) !


	5. Composure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking a sip of beer to wash the taste, you turn to Allen. “Do you go by Richard or David?”
> 
> “David,” he spits back, pointedly ignoring the other men’s audible snickers. “Don’t listen to these dipshits.”
> 
> “Actually, he sometimes goes by Dick,” Trevor informs you delightedly, immune to the death-glare Allen shoots him.
> 
> “Don’t you fucking dare,” the SWAT captain warns through gritted teeth. It’s enough to make you recoil in fear but evidently means nothing to the rest of your companions.
> 
> Jackson clears his throat loudly, a shit-eating grin on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another thicc chapter because idk why this fic isn't over yet wtf it's so long. 
> 
> Again, thank you for the feedback, y'all! My heart is happy <3
> 
> To clarify, Trevor is the one on the computer next to Allen in The Hostage and Jackson, Scott, and Luis are the three guys who help apprehend Connor at the rooftop (not that this happens bc Hank is still alive in this fic).

Captain Allen does not return to the office for the entirety of your shift. 

Admittedly, you were expecting him to come by to at least grab his stuff—you even had an escape plan prepared for that situation—but no, the man was sincerely dead-set on avoiding you for the remainder of the day.

You absentmindedly rub your now-inkless left forearm, scoffing when you remember that Allen scrubbed the words off his skin not even half an hour after storming out. You'd felt that cooling sensation on your arm, as if you had submerged it in ice water. In contrast to how much you secretly enjoyed the tingle that came with words appearing on your skin, you shuddered at the unpleasantness of having those words _removed_. It left you feeling abandoned and empty, no doubt another side-effect of this whole soulmate nonsense.

To think that once upon a time, you would’ve given anything just to _meet_ him…

Still dejected from your conversation with the SWAT captain, you quietly collect your belongings. Most of the guys have gone home already, and the few lingering around are currently saying their good-byes to each other. You’re unsure whether to lock the office up considering Allen hasn’t yet returned for his bag, which may or may not contain his keys. Then again, it’s not _your_ problem he doesn’t know how to handle workplace conflicts. 

You pull out your phone to check the time and the realization that you don’t have a ride home suddenly hits you; you’re certain that Allen isn’t in the mood to even look at you right now, let alone drive you anywhere. Hell, you’re half-expecting to receive a notice of termination in the coming days.

Which is just _fine_ , of course. Maybe then you can finally pack your things and relocate somewhere far, _far_ away from David Allen.

You’re busy searching for cabs in the vicinity when you hear the door open and you inwardly groan. The guys have been coming in and out all day asking for Allen, and you’ve lost count of how many times they’ve demanded “who the fuck are you?” instead of actually telling you what they wanted from the man. Frustrated, you screw your eyes shut in pain and say, with poorly-contained annoyance, “Captain Allen isn’t here right now.”

“Really,” remarks a deadpan voice, one that you’re not prepared to hear. You whip around in shock, alarmed to find Allen standing behind you with his arms crossed. Seeing his face only serves to irritate you more, his icy blue eyes and ever-present scowl brutally reminding you of what he said and what he refused to do.

You turn away, gaze shifting to your phone once again. “Finally come back, huh?”

Allen doesn’t reply. He simply walks over to his side of the desk and retrieves his bag from underneath it. While he shuts his computer off and gathers the few files that he needs to take home, you begin looking for the nearest bus stop. As much as you’d prefer to call a taxi, you’re not sure how far your paycheck will take you and you can’t afford to blow your money on cab fares alone. The commute home will be long and cold, but it’s still a better option than swallowing your pride and asking Allen for a lift back.

A quick glance up confirms that Allen has already left, and part of you is disappointed that he truly doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore. You can't say for certain if the two of you were ever necessarily friends, but you did enjoy his company at times.

Somehow, losing this easy sort-of friendship with _David_ hurts more than being neglected by your faceless soulmate. 

Bracing yourself for the cold walk to the bus station, you haul your bag over your shoulder and get to your feet. Eyes glued to your phone, you don’t notice Allen waiting by the door until you walk face-first into his chest. 

“Watch it,” he mutters, ignoring your stunned expression. You mumble a half-assed apology before side-stepping him while he locks the office, and you make a beeline for the elevators to get out of his hair. As luck would have it, the elevators are all stuck on the first floor, and by the time one begins its ascent, Allen has already caught up to you.

“How big of a dick do you think I am?” he quips when you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge him. Still glaring at the elevator doors, you shrug.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” he snorts, only slightly offended. “You honestly think I’ll stop giving you rides over something like _that_?”

Bashfully, you bite your lip and nod. “I mean, yeah.”

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. To your surprise, Allen lightly shoves you inside and you let out a shout of indignation that he dismisses. “Give me more credit.”

The ride home is not as tense as you expect, but strained enough that you don’t try to strike up conversation. You’re uncertain if he's doing this out of the goodness of his heart or if he simply feels obligated to carry out his promise, so you play it safe and keep your mouth shut.

You can’t say the same for your stomach, unfortunately.

Flushing a deep shade of red, you slap a hand over it in an attempt to somehow muffle the noise, but the damage has already been done. Allen turns to you, bemused.

“Ah, so that’s why you were in a hurry to leave.”

“Shut up,” you mumble in embarrassment, sinking further into you seat. The SWAT captain shakes his head.

“Let’s stop somewhere, then.”

“David, you don’t have to,” you groan, his name slipping out of your lips with alarming ease. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards at that but you don’t notice in your distracted state.   

“I’m hungry, too,” he replies, shooting you one of his rare smiles. It’s the same one he gave you the night he drove you home for the first time, the night your life went down a road you weren’t ready to take.

For a fraction of a second, you fall.

* * *

Neither of you apologize for what transpired in the office that fateful morning, and you’re surprisingly content with it. You don’t think you did anything to warrant an apology, and Allen _technically_ had the right to express his passionate yet absurd opinions. Maybe you shouldn’t have resorted to yelling at him, but there's no denying that he _definitely_ deserved it.

At the very least, now you know better than to bring up the topic of soulmates ever again. This isn’t necessarily such a bad thing either because he’s already revealed why he's been so unapologetically cold to you all this time:

He doesn’t believe in soulmates.

So it’s not that he has anything against _you_ in particular; he simply refuses to be with the person whose fate is permanently tied to his.

That person just _happens_ to be you.

The following day, he picks you up like always, except this time he passes you a fucking breakfast burrito. You don’t know why the man insists on giving you food each time he collects you, but now you can’t help but feel like you’re taking advantage. Not only does he go out of his way to drive you to and from work, he also brings you breakfast. However, when you try to hand him some money, he waves the bills aside without even looking.

"It’s nothing." 

“You don’t have to get me food all the time!”

“It’s not for _you_ ,” Allen insists with so much conviction that you actually believe him at first, “I just want those reports done right.”

“Ha ha.” You flip him off without thinking and only after he raises his eyebrows at you in question do you realize what you’ve done. Flustered, you start to apologize profusely, but your stammering is cut short when he lets out a bark of laughter.

All you can do is blush, captivated by the unadulterated joy on his face that you’ve never seen before.

Without you realizing it, the balance between you two begins to shift. 

At the station, you make a habit of bringing him coffee whenever he looks particularly frazzled. In return, he either takes you out for lunch or has some delivered for the both of you. All your free-time is spent with him, and you’re disappointed when he has to leave the office for any reason. The fact that he’s your soulmate—the man you’re supposed to _hate_ with every fiber of your being—slips from your mind because he’s not merely your soulmate anymore; he’s Captain Allen. _David_.

Someone you’re slowly starting to genuinely _care_ about. 

A full week passes without incident, without any mention of soulmates and the undue pain that they cause. You forget the promises you made to yourself that you’ll never be with Captain Allen just as easily as you forget that he’s the same man who’d broken your heart time and time again. As much as you  _want_ to hate him, it seems impossible to do so now that you’re actually _friends_.

“The guys want to know if you’re coming to Jimmy’s tonight,” Allen informs you the moment you reenter the office with two steaming mugs of coffee. You hand his over, careful not to spill on anything, before settling in your seat.

“I’m invited?” you ask, legitimately surprised. It hasn’t been easy making friends in the SWAT department. Nobody really has the time or patience to entertain small-talk with you, but you completely understand. You’re only too aware of the types of situations they respond to, and the kind of training and dedication that comes with being a part of Detroit’s finest SWAT unit. Humoring someone like you isn't part of the equation, which is exactly why you can’t imagine that you’ve made enough of an impact to warrant being included in any type of social gathering, let alone bar night.

Allen stares at you incredulously. “Why would I ask you if you weren’t?”

Choosing to ignore his snarky rebuttal, you yawn, “I’ll go if you go."

An odd expression crosses his face. You begin to question him about it, but he simply looks away and takes an indulgent sip of his coffee.

You decide to leave it at that.

* * *

When you first step into Jimmy’s Bar, you’re unnerved by the amount of people inside. You've only ever been here once, and it was to pick up Lieutenant Anderson—it was actually one of your very first assignments—and back then, there were maybe five other people besides you and Hank.

Now, however, you think you see the entire fucking precinct.

You spot Tina and Gavin in one of the booths along with a few officers from Homicide, but since none of them are facing your direction, your waves go unnoticed. If Allen hadn't been leading the way, you probably would have joined them.

You follow him to a table in the corner where four tall, burly men are awaiting the two of you. As you approach, you note that they exchange glances with each other before smirking at Allen, whose face impressively remains impassive despite the unwarranted attention. 

“Well, look who finally showed up,” teases one of the men, a heavy-set brunet who visibly towers over Allen. Beside him is another dark-haired man, not quite as tall, yet definitely the most muscular out of the bunch. He sticks his hand out to you first.

“Hey, there. I’m Trevor. This fucker—” he gestures crudely to the brunet, “—is Jackson.”

“I’ve seen you around,” Jackson adds, taking a swig of beer.

You quickly introduce yourself, shaking hands with everyone at the table. You recognize the other two, Scott and Luis, as the same guys who always seem to be asking for Allen for one reason or another.

It's certainly bizarre to see them all so relaxed, especially since you're accustomed to working with them under more strenuous conditions. Even more unusual is that they’re actually interested in what you have to say this time around. Then again, with the kind of shit they have to deal with on a regular basis, you suppose you can’t really blame them for being so cold at work.

While the guys begin to grill you about details of your personal life, Allen briefly excuses himself to grab the both of you some drinks. Scott suddenly lights up and hurries after him, shouting something about shots.

You gulp.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Richard?” Luis questions you the moment Allen is out of earshot. 

“Richard…?” you ask hesitantly, convinced that you must've misunderstood him. However, you only grow more bewildered when your question is met with loud guffaws.

“Oh, man!” Jackson laughs, slamming his fist against the table several times in excitement. “We have to tell you this shit.”

Doubting their sobriety at this point, you demand, “Who’s Richard?”

“Oh, don't worry. You'll see."

Biting your lip, you discreetly count the number of bottles on the table. The fact that there are merely four astounds you because you sincerely doubt that they're just on their _first_ round of drinks.

Not even five minutes later, Allen returns with two beers, Scott balancing six small glasses right behind him. He eagerly hands everyone a shot of what you can only assume is whiskey and you make a face.

You really have no choice but to join the others in raising your glasses in unison, cheering weakly.

“TO RICHARD!” bellow Jackson, Luis, and Trevor, with Scott yelling the same a few seconds late. Allen glowers at them scathingly yet they don’t seem to care, throwing their drinks back with practiced ease. You do the same, hissing at the bite of liquor.

Taking a sip of beer to wash the taste, you turn to Allen. “Do you go by Richard or David?”

“David,” he spits back, pointedly ignoring the other men’s audible snickers. “Don’t listen to these dipshits.”

“Actually, he sometimes goes by Dick,” Trevor informs you delightedly, immune to the death-glare Allen shoots him.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” the SWAT captain warns through gritted teeth. It’s enough to make you recoil in fear but evidently means nothing to the rest of your companions.

Jackson clears his throat loudly, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Alright, I'll keep this short. We'd just finished training, right? And—” He pauses momentarily to catch the empty shot glass that Allen chucks at him in irritation. Trevor slings an arm around Allen’s shoulders, only chuckling when the man shoves him away. “We’re in the locker rooms getting ready to head home and _this_ _guy_ comes out of the shower covered in fucking _dicks_.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” you gasp, slapping a hand over your mouth to prevent from shrieking with laughter. Beside you, Allen is visibly fuming, although there’s no question that the redness on his cheeks is from embarrassment more than rage.

“Yeah! They were all over him, too, and he didn’t even fucking notice till Scott here almost threw up laughing.”

“He had them on for that whole _week_. Remember how much shit Banks gave him?”

“Banks was the old captain,” Luis whispers to you helpfully and you nod in understanding.

“Ever since then we started calling him Dick, but he gets more pissed when we call him Richard,” Trevor finishes proudly, patting Allen’s back. You’re doubled over heaving at this point, shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Now that _really_ explains why you’d received such aggressive threats when you’d pulled that stunt all those years ago.

You're undeniably  _pleased_  with yourself.

“Another reason why I won’t meet that fucker,” Allen dryly mutters, speaking so quietly that you’re not sure if he meant for you to hear it. Regardless, you did, and your smile immediately vanishes.

“You probably deserved it,” you point out, nudging him lightly with your elbow. He sneers at your input, crossing his arms.

“Nah, he just doesn’t believe in soulmates," Luis clarifies with a smirk. The fact that everybody seems to know that about him honestly irks you and you huff.

“It’s not that bad,” Trevor muses. He suddenly extends his right arm across the table so you can see the many scribbles and notes on his forearm. “These are all from my wife.”

“What do they say?”

“Ah, well, there's a few ‘fuck you’s… here’s a reminder to grab some milk…”

“My wife and I play tic-tac-toe sometimes,” Jackson chimes in and Luis nods in agreement.

“Me too.”

“What about you?” Scott asks you kindly, and you flush a little when all eyes settle on you expectantly. You try not to stare at Allen, who is listening to you with rapt attention.

“Er… I don’t really… know him...?” you trail off nervously, staring determinedly at your mostly-untouched beer on the table. Someone lets out a low whistle but you can’t tell who.

“You know he’s a guy, though?” Luis presses, but before you can answer, Allen’s sharp voice cuts in.

“It’s none of our business.”

Just like that, the entire table falls silent. You look over at Allen, mouth parting in surprise once you catch glimpse of the livid expression on his face that you don’t believe has any reason to be there considering that Luis simply asked you a question.

“I don’t mind, David." Smiling reassuringly, you place a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him down. He turns to you then, his eyes softening by a fraction.

The exchange doesn’t go unnoticed, and when you revert your attention back to the other guys, you can see them watching the two of you in amusement.

Luckily, they don’t mention it for the rest of the evening, but Trevor does wink at you conspiratorially when you and Allen take your leave. You’re admittedly too drunk at this point to realize that he knows there’s something odd going on between you and the cold-hearted captain, your secret soulmate, so you only wink back. Allen sighs at your antics and guides you out of the bar.

* * *

“Can I ask you something?” you mumble sleepily, very warm and comfortable reclining in the front seat with Allen’s coat thrown over you as a makeshift blanket.

The SWAT captain hums in deliberation before shrugging. “Alright.”

“Why do you think you’re not meant to be with your soulmate?”

“This again,” he groans in exaggerated pain and you can’t help but laugh at his response.

“C’mon, tell me.”

Allen shakes his head. “I don’t think we’d be a good match. I mean, they fucking drew dicks on themselves just to piss me off." 

“Maybe they just like dicks,” you point out, carelessly motioning to his crotch. Luckily, he doesn’t see this. 

“Yeah, yeah. Now go back to sleep. You’re loud.”

"No, I'm not." Drowsily, you reach out to pet Allen like you would a stray dog. He misunderstands your abrupt gesture and wordlessly takes your hand in his own. Drunk and with significantly less inhibitions, you beam up at him and squeeze his hand. 

He squeezes back, his eyes never leaving the mostly-empty road ahead.

“Dave?” you ask again after a few minutes of silence. He seems to be lost in thought and it takes you a few more tries before he snaps back to reality and glances at you.

“Yeah?”

“You should meet them. I’m sure they’d like that.”

Allen lets out a sharp exhale. He roughly withdraws his hand to grip the wheel. You frown, confused as to why he suddenly wants some space when he had no problem with the intimacy earlier.

“Is there any particular reason you keep telling me to find my soulmate?” he asks in a clipped tone. You gawk at him for several seconds, unsure how to respond. When you fail to come up with a reply, he only takes a deep breath. “Do you want me to _be_ with them, or something?”

“I want you to _try_ ,” you admit quietly, completely unaware of the weight of your words, or the impact they may have on him.

He swears under his breath and ignores you for the rest of the ride home like the child he is, but that’s nothing new. He does, however, help you up to your apartment instead of abandoning you in the parking lot like he probably wants to, so you guess he’s not all _that_ bad.

At the door, you give him a warm hug that he returns with some hesitation. He ensures that you’re safely inside and that he’s heard your front door lock before he makes his way back to his car. 

Yawning, you strip to your underwear and haphazardly climb into bed, your usual nighttime routine forgotten. Just as you’re about to pass out, you feel that familiar tingling sensation on your arm and your eyes snap open.

You sit up and reach for the bedside lamp, flicking the lights on. Once you’re able to clearly see, you lift your left forearm and read Allen’s latest message.

_Can we meet?_

You practically dive out of your bed, falling headfirst onto the floor. Undeterred, you run out into the living room to grab a pen from the coffee table, your hand trembling as you quickly write out a reply with the biggest grin on your face.

**_Of course._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this entire thing was supposed to just be a 3k one-shot but I decided to indulge myself lol. 
> 
> I think we're at the halfway point now, if not more. 
> 
> Also I feel like I should stress that Allen was definitely sober when he drove. Never drink and drive! That is all.


	6. Exception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentally rolling your eyes, you stick your head in the room, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. “Sorry to bother you, Captain, but I wanted to let you know that I won’t be needing a ride to and from work anymore.”
> 
> He doesn’t even blink. “Good.”
> 
> You almost recoil in shock at his icy response. How fucking tactful.

Several loud thuds in succession jerk you awake and you immediately try to sit up.

Of course, you just as immediately keel over in pain, clawing at your head as it throbs from both the sudden movement and incessant thumping. Groaning, you somehow manage to haul your ass out of bed before stumbling outside.

The noise is infinitely louder in the living room, and it doesn’t take long for you to realize that the disturbance is coming from the front door.

Normally, you'd be warier about opening your door for just anyone; more importantly, you'd actually be mindful of the fact that you just crawled out of bed wearing nothing but your underwear and a shirt that you found on the floor.

Right now, though, all you really care about is stopping that God awful noise. If a murderer really is waiting for you on the other side of the door, then you can only hope that they don't judge your choice of undies. 

You yank the door open roughly, almost instantly regretting doing so when you see Captain Allen standing right in front of you, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

Before you can slam the door on his face, he suddenly lets out a low whistle. “Wow.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Didn’t realize you couldn’t handle liquor,” he laughs as you motion for him to come inside. Bemused, he follows you into your home, gently shutting the door behind him. Eyes screwed shut, you rub your temples tiredly and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at you some more.

You drop into the couch and sling an arm across your eyes in a pathetic attempt to soothe your pounding headache. It’s only when Allen asks you if you have any intention of going to work at all that day do you suddenly spring to your feet. “WHAT TIME IS IT?”

He smirks. “Noon.”

“What?!”

“I tried calling you this morning but you never picked up. Figured you were dead.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” you moan, rubbing your face in shame. “Am I fired? I’m fired, right?”

“Depends,” the SWAT captain muses, walking over and depositing a plastic bag of _something_ on the couch beside you. Admittedly, you didn't notice he was carrying anything at all when he arrived, but you quickly discard the thought when you smell Chinese takeout coming from the bag in question.

“Aww, Dave, you shouldn’t have,” you tease with a grin. It’s been a while since you’ve gotten such a massive hangover like this, so you can’t even begin to describe how thankful you are that he’s provided you with the one thing you always have trouble obtaining after a night of too much drinking: hot, freshly-cooked food.

Instant ramen has absolutely _nothing_ on this.

“Don’t get used to it,” he warns, the smile gracing his lips contradicting his words. Laughing, you reach out to whack his leg playfully, a harmless gesture between friends.

You don’t consider that it leaves your forearm exposed, or that Allen is paying enough attention to catch glimpse of the ink on your skin until you see his smile vanish. Confused, you follow his gaze and gasp when you realize what he’s looking at. You immediately withdraw your arm, hiding it from sight.

His eyes narrow. “You wrote to him last night?”

For some reason, he sounds accusatory. Maybe a little hurt if you’re being completely honest. Your throat suddenly feels unbearably dry and you turn away.

He watches you expectantly, waiting for you to speak. There’s no reason for you to be so tongue-tied but you can’t help it; you don’t want to let anything slip, not when the two of you are only a few days away from finally, _finally_ meeting each other. 

Captain Allen sighs then, his shoulder slumping. He shoves his hands in his pockets and averts your eyes when you look up at him. “I’m meeting mine soon. On Friday, actually.” 

You try not to smirk, recalling how you’d been the one to set the date. “I’m glad.”

For some reason, that just seems to make it worse.

“Of course you are,” he scoffs, backing away from you. His voice is cold. Defensive. Unlike that of the David Allen who had shown up to check on you and bring you lunch. “Be downstairs at six-fifty tomorrow unless you really want to be fired.”

He doesn’t sound like he’s joking this time around.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Understood, Captain.”

* * *

Unsurprisingly, he ignores you for the next few days.

It’s childish more than anything, so you try not to let it get to you. However, you can’t deny that you feel somewhat rejected, maybe even abandoned to an extent.

Allen doesn’t talk to you anymore. When you try to strike up conversation, he simply redirects your attention back to work. Each time you attempt to get a reaction out of him, he only glares at you until you have no choice but to give up.

He remains in such a sour mood that on Thursday, Scott pulls you aside to inform you that there’s an open desk near his.

“Listen, I don’t know what the fuck happened between you and Dave, but you really need to get your ass out of that office,” he whispers seriously. The fact that he actually used Allen’s real name tells you that he’s not kidding and you shouldn’t take his words lightly.

A little dazed, you agree without hesitation. Scott carries the mountain of files to your new desk while you grab your laptop and other belongings from the captain’s office. By the time Allen returns from his meeting, you’ve already settled into your designated space. You watch him enter his office and your chest tightens when he doesn’t even pause to look for you, confirming your suspicions that _he's_ the one who instructed Scott to move you elsewhere.

Leave it to Allen to find new, exciting ways to hurt you when you’re least expecting it. You thought you’d experienced it all back when he was just your nameless soulmate, but boy, did he prove you _wrong_.

You're not sure why he still hasn’t revoked his offer to carpool since he obviously has no problem taking everything else from you, so naturally, you decide to beat him to the punch. A few minutes before the end of your shift that same day, you head to his office and knock politely on the door. Allen glances up and thins his lips when he sees you.

Mentally rolling your eyes, you stick your head in the room, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. “Sorry to bother you, Captain, but I wanted to let you know that I won’t be needing a ride to and from work anymore.”

He doesn’t even blink. “Good.”

You almost recoil in shock at his icy response. How fucking _tactful_.

Wordlessly, you turn away. The door shuts softly behind you as you descend the steps, your heart hammering at the unnerving exchange. When you return to your desk, you hide the laptop in one of the drawers and lock it with a scan of your index finger. There are a few minutes left before you’re technically allowed to leave but you don’t care; if Allen truly wants to fire you, then so be it.

You grab your bag and say your goodbyes to Scott, who gives you a thumbs-up on the way out.

This time, Allen doesn’t try to catch up with you at the elevators.

You tell yourself that you don’t care.

* * *

Out of all the people in the world you would expect to come to your aid in a time of need, you would have never guessed that Gavin fucking Reed would be your knight in shining armor, but here he is, offering to sell you one of his old cars for cheap.

“What’s the catch?” you ask cautiously, examining the 2029 coupe with some skepticism. It’s a pretty nice car, a complete improvement to the metal deathtrap you’d been driving up until a few weeks ago. There’s no way that someone as cutthroat as Reed would actually do something this nice without expecting anything in return.

To your surprise, the detective merely shrugs. “No catch, dumbass. I need money and you need a car. Why’s that so fucking hard to understand?”

The real question should be, why is it that every prick in the DPD gravitates towards you? At the rate you’re going, you really need to invest in some Asshole Repellant.

Still, you appreciate the offer and promise to buy him lunch for the next month.

The following morning, you drive to work for the first time in weeks. It's certainly an experience walking to the parking structure and getting into your own vehicle instead of waiting for Allen’s black twenty-year-old sedan. About halfway to the station, your stomach begins to growl and you snort at the Pavlovian response. You unceremoniously pull over at a bakery, disappointed that you'll be eating breakfast without Allen for a change. 

When you get to the station, you drop a box of assorted pastries on Gavin’s desk before heading up to the fourth floor to face yet another long day at the local hellhole.

Allen doesn’t arrive until much later. You duck into the break room to avoid running into him, but that plan instantly backfires when he unknowingly follows you there to grab some coffee. The two of you briefly make eye-contact and something in you burns, either due to anger at his recent behavior or longing for the way things used to be.

Regardless, you take the coward’s route and practically run out of the room.

You’ve been so preoccupied with Allen’s unforeseen hostility these past few days that you don’t notice the date until Trevor comes by your desk and smacks your back in greeting, eliciting several colorful swears from you.

“Thank fuck it’s Friday,” he laughs while you glower at him. That last word hits you a few seconds late and you almost fall out of your chair as you rifle through your bag for your phone. Once you confirm that it is indeed Friday, you let out a deep, shuddering breath.

Today’s the day.

Allen hasn’t tried to reach out since the night he asked you to meet, but you suppose you can’t fault him for that. You’re still in a bit of shock that he even took your advice to begin with; how drunk-you managed to convince him to meet his soulmate, whom he’d spent a majority of his life alienating, is beyond sober-you, but you’re in no position to start questioning your apparently-godlike persuasion skills now.

Once Trevor walks off to bother Jackson, you discreetly check your surroundings to ensure that nobody is watching you, most particularly Allen. Luckily, the man has been cooped up in his office the whole morning and currently appears to be arguing with someone on the phone.

Relieved, you roll up your sleeve and jot down a quick message confirming the date before covering back up. You don’t expect a reply right away, so you decide to keep busy for the time being and engross yourself in the reports.

Not even five minutes later you feel that warm, tingling sensation on your left forearm.

_See you soon._

You smile wistfully.

If only he knew...

* * *

The plan is to meet at John’s Coffee in Camden at exactly seven in the evening, giving the both of you enough time to get ready after work.

You waste no time heading home to shower and make yourself more presentable. You don’t want to look _too_ nice—it’s just  _Allen_ after all, and he may even make fun of you for trying to impress him—but you also don’t want to wear anything he's already seen you in. This wastes a good twenty minutes, and eventually you manage to throw on a flattering outfit that you normally save for special occasions like this anyway.

Although you have fifteen minutes to spare, you decide to head out early before you can convince yourself to change once again.

The coffee shop isn’t too crowded when you arrive and you’re able to secure the booth at the very corner, underneath the television. You order some coffee that you’re too nervous to drink and pull out your phone to check the time.

6:58 PM.

You inform Allen where you are, bouncing your leg under the table in anticipation. In a few minutes, your soulmate will be walking through the door—probably still wearing that black SWAT hoodie of his that he’s so fond of—completely unaware that the person he's been dreading to meet this whole time is _you_ , someone who’s been working by his side for several weeks now. 

Nonetheless, the world works in mysterious ways. The universe never once gave you what you deserved, let alone expected.

In less than a month, you not only found your soulmate, you also became really, _really_ good friends with him. Given some more time, you two might have become _best_ friends. Maybe even _more_.

You’ll never know, of course, because after sitting there for half an hour with no reply, you begin to suspect that Captain Allen may have stood you up.

You don’t want to believe that, but he’s thirty minutes late and hasn’t replied to any of your messages. You haven’t felt a single tingle signifying a response from your soulmate.  

Just.

 _Nothing_.

Pathetically, _desperately_ , you wait for an entire hour. Several waves of patrons come and go. You have to order another cup of coffee to justify sitting there for so long. When the cashier looks at you oddly, you ask for whatever pie they have that day.

In a last ditch effort to figure out if Allen truly did leave you here to rot, you call him. You no longer care that you’re supposed to keep your identity a surprise; at this point, all you want to figure out is why he _fucking stood you up_.

You go straight to voicemail. 

Gritting your teeth, you stalk over to the counter and ask for a to-go box for your uneaten slice of apple pie. This time, the cashier gives you a pitying look, likely aware of the situation you’re in, and you offer him a curt smile before returning to your booth to grab your food and the two cups of untouched coffee, which you throw in the trash with ease. As an afterthought, you slip into the bathroom to scrub the ink off your skin, ignoring the pointed looks you receive.

On the way out, you bump into a couple heading inside and bow your head to hide the tears streaming down your cheeks. Outside, the air is freezing but you're too distracted to care. You briskly walk over to your car, which you had parked sloppily along the curb in your excitement when you first arrived, and ungracefully hop in before tossing the box of pie in the backseat without a care if it opens and gets all over the leather. For several minutes, you sit there in silence, resting your forehead against the steering wheel as you will yourself to _stop fucking sobbing_ because this is _shameful_ and you made a vow that  _you’ll never cry over him again._

But from your experience, some promises are meant to be broken.

Once your vision is no longer blurred with tears, you begin the lonely drive home and take a detour to avoid traffic. You’re not sure if you want to call Tina and ask if you can swing by her place to vent, or if you simply want to crawl into bed and cry yourself to sleep.

Then again, do you really want Tina to see you in such a state, moping over a man she warned you often slept around and refused to take anyone seriously?

Probably not.

You scowl when you get to your apartment’s parking structure, remembering the many occasions Allen picked you up and dropped you off there. After parking a little too close to the wall, you slam the door shut with more force than necessary and promptly whisper an apology to your new car.

Since your eyes are still puffy and you look like complete shit, you opt out of taking the normally-crowded elevator and slip into the stairwell instead. Climbing the steps tiredly, you check your phone to see if Allen ever bothered to call you back and your heart drops when you see no new notifications. Sniffling, you shove the stairwell door open when you reach your floor.

In the many years you’ve lived there, you've never once seen anybody in the hallway whenever you got home, not even the neighbor directly across from you. You don’t know if this is simply due to the timing or if everybody just avoids you in particular, but either way, you’re not used to seeing someone waiting around in the hallway, let alone waiting for _you_.

Like you said earlier, the world works in mysterious ways.

“David?” you ask incredulously when you see him leaning against your door. His head snaps up at the sound of your voice and he quickly pushes himself upright. Once you get close enough, you shove him with all your strength. “What the _fuck_ is wrong with you? Why didn’t you show up?”

He laughs humorlessly, shaking his head. “Who told you? Luis? Trevor?”

“You’re such a fucking _dick_ , you know that?” you hiss, shoving him again with even more force. He doesn’t even move, strong as he is, and you hate him for that. You want him to _hurt_ , to feel the same pain and humiliation you felt not that long ago, sitting _alone_ in a booth at John’s Coffee. You want him to suffer as much as you have, as his _soulmate_ , as the person who'd spent years dealing with the consequences of his unbelievably  _selfish_ actions. “What makes you think you can just stand people up like that?”

Suddenly, he grabs you by the shoulders, squeezing firmly, _pleadingly_. “I couldn’t meet them.”

You barely restrain yourself from full-on slapping him across the face. Remembering that he can very well arrest you for assault if you lose your cool, you grit out, “Why the fuck not?”

And then before you know it, he’s pulling you close and his lips are on yours.

Your mind goes blank.

He kisses you gently but urgently all the same. One of his hands cup the back of your head, the other slips to your waist.

You don’t expect a man like Captain Allen, who oozes rugged masculinity and gruffness, to have such soft, inviting lips but he _does_ and you can’t have enough.

Moaning, you surge forward brazenly, grabbing him by the hood of his pullover and tugging him impossibly _closer_. He chuckles against your lips briefly before adding more pressure to the kiss, poking his tongue out to meet yours.

In the past, you always laughed at the saying that kissing your soulmate feels like fireworks exploding inside of you; truthfully, you still think that’s the most ridiculous way to put it because right now, you feel like your entire body has been submerged in _lava_.

Fireworks don’t do it fucking  _justice_.

You pull away first. Not so much because you need to breathe, but you’re honestly a little _too_ overwhelmed to keep kissing him without passing out. Panting slightly, you allow him to envelop you in a tight embrace. He buries his face in your neck and sighs.

“I couldn’t meet them,” he begins as he presses several kisses along your jaw, making you shiver, “without letting you know.”

“Dave…”

Allen kisses you again, once. You melt as his half-lidded, sky blue eyes stare you down, burning with an intensity you’ve never seen before. 

“I don't care who my soulmate is. I just want _you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all thought it was gonna be angsty huh.
> 
> YEEET.
> 
> Seriously, though, thank you guys again for the feedback! I keep saying it but really I mean it ^^


	7. Permanent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After one and a half romcoms that you chose out of spite more than anything else, Allen asks if you want to spend the night at his place and you gleefully crawl into his lap, straddling him.
> 
> “Dave, are you the clingy type?”
> 
> “Don’t flatter yourself.”
> 
> The redness on his cheeks is all you need to confirm your suspicions and you laugh before hopping to your feet to get an overnight bag ready.
> 
> Allen wonders why _you_ couldn’t have been his soulmate instead.

When you come to, the first thought in your mind is _cold_ , immediately followed by _who the fuck left the window open?_

Shivering, you groggily tug the duvet over your head, curling into yourself to conserve body heat. You then attempt to roll to your stomach, but instead you bump into something very solid and very warm.

Your eyes snap open and you lift your head, the covers framing your face as you turn to inspect the unusual source of warmth in your bed.

A soft noise of surprise leaves your lips when you see a naked Captain Allen snoring away beside you in a state of dishevelment that you never would have imagined you’d witness firsthand. His normally slicked-back hair is mussed up, a few wayward strands curling across his forehead, and you tentatively reach a hand out to card your fingers through those silky brown locks. He lets out a sound that reminds you of a dying cow before snorting once in his sleep.

You turn away and slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter.

Shaking your head fondly, you carefully crawl out of bed, slightly bashful to see both yours and Allen’s clothes from yesterday scattered all over the carpet. You’re somewhat amazed at how little you care that you’re standing naked as the day you were born with Allen equally as undressed on the bed behind you, but after everything that’s happened, you’re not really in the position to feel any form of shame when it comes to him.

However, just because you have every right to parade around your apartment nude—especially since the only other person with you is now very acquainted with your body—doesn’t mean you have to actually do it, no matter what the movies say.

Although... you’re not above living out at least _some_ form of the fantasy. You giddily snatch Allen’s plain, dark-gray shirt off the floor and don it on yourself with ease. You find your underwear all the way across the room and you roll your eyes, remembering how eager and impatient Allen was last night, and how carelessly he flung your clothes this way and that while somehow keeping his mouth attached to you. Before padding out of the room to start on breakfast, you walk back to the bed and tug the duvet over Allen’s shoulders. Luckily, he doesn’t wake, though you think you see a ghost of a smile on his lips.

While waiting for the coffee to brew, you turn the television on and flick through channels until you land on CTN. Androids have been the topic of almost every news station as of late and you’re honestly getting a little tired of seeing the same thing over and over again, but you prefer to have some background noise.

You return to the kitchen and pour yourself some coffee, wondering vaguely if you have enough ingredients to make anything other than a bowl of cereal. Truthfully, you haven’t gone grocery shopping in a while—Allen’s fault for always treating you to dinner on the way home—so you don’t really have much to work with. 

Not to mention… you’re not entirely sure if Allen has any intention of staying for breakfast, especially since you have no clue what last night even _was_. A passionate tryst? A moment of weakness between friends?

A simple, _meaningless_ fuck?

You frown at that.

No… _no_ , for once in your life, you can safely say that your soulmate isn’t that big of a douchebag. Last night _meant_ something, although you can’t say exactly what.

Thankfully, you don’t have to brood for long.

You hear your door open and your heart practically leaps out of your chest. Swallowing one final mouthful of coffee, you abandon your mug on the counter and hurry into the living room just in time to see Allen walking over to you wearing nothing but his underwear.

“Good morning—” you begin breathlessly, but he doesn’t let you finish, simply pulling you into his arms and pressing his lips heatedly against yours as if he didn’t spend all night doing just that. For someone who generally appears so heartless, he’s unarguably a passionate lover who isn’t afraid to show you how much he wants you.

When you eventually muster the strength to push him away so you can _breathe_ , he has the nerve to whine.

“Calm the fuck down,” you admonish playfully, grabbing his hand and leading him into the kitchen. While you pour him some coffee, he wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder, watching you work your magic. In his _perfectly_ unbiased opinion, you make the best damn coffee he’s ever tasted and he can’t get enough of it.

“I didn’t think this would actually happen,” he muses sleepily, squeezing you with only a hint of possessiveness that makes you grin. You twist your head slightly to peck his cheek and he hums in approval. 

“What do you mean?”

“This.” Allen squeezes you again and this time you turn around to face him, leaning back against the counter. With your lips easily accessible once again, he surges forward for yet another kiss, possibly your hundredth one. You’re not sure.

You’ve lost count.

“Are you talking about me?” you laugh, running your hands up and down his muscular, tattooed biceps. Interestingly enough, the tattoos don’t reflect on your skin, likely because Allen wasn’t the one to actually draw them on. A good thing, too, because you definitely wouldn't have appreciated bearing a design that _he_ chose on your arms forever. 

“Who else would I be talking about?" 

You smirk. “Uh—your soulmate, maybe? You know, the person you left stranded in a coffee shop?” 

Allen groans in exasperation. “Stop fucking reminding me.”

“You probably broke their heart, Dave. Think about that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismisses gruffly, only mildly guilty of abandoning his poor, unsuspecting soulmate. Not for the first time since you found him waiting outside your door, you consider finally telling him the truth—that _you’re_ the person he’s destined to be with despite how dead-set he is on not meeting you—but the sour expression on his face deters you.

After all, you have no idea how he’s going to react. It’s obvious that he has a pretty strong grudge against his soulmate and there’s a chance this inherent hatred may even extend to you. The last thing you want is to lose what you have with him, especially since the two of you are no longer _just_ friends.

Which reminds you…

“Dave?”

“Hm?”

“Are we…uhm…”

His eyes light up. “Are we what?”

“You know,” you mutter, unnerved at the can of worms you apparently aren’t ready to open. It’s as if you forgot how to form sentences altogether, and you have no choice but to stare pointedly at a spot on the wall to avoid looking into Allen’s bright, sky blue eyes.

“ _Do_ I know?” he prods keenly, and you hate that he’s really going to make you say it.

Normally, you’d take him up on the challenge. You’d take your soulmate up on _anything_ because he’s the most annoying person you’ve ever met and you would gladly jump on any opportunity to best him.

But he’s not just your soulmate anymore.

He’s David Allen.

And for some fucking reason, _David Allen_ makes you shy when you would otherwise be ready to fight.

You bury your face in his bare chest and sigh. “Never mind.”

That doesn’t sit well with him, however. His arms wrap around your middle and he hugs you so tightly that you gasp and lift your head to tell him off.

You don’t get the chance.

He’s not gentle this time, biting your lower lip in desperation and sucking on it until you’re a groaning, shaking mess in his arms. Allen slides his tongue against yours and you can’t focus on anything other than his burning touches and ardent kisses. He lifts you without warning and you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you towards your bedroom with only two firm words.

“You’re _mine_.”

You spend all of Saturday with him in bed, the most logical thing to do after such an intense morning. Allen's inhuman amount of stamina simultaneously has you screaming for more and begging for a break. By the time Sunday rolls around, you’re too sore and exhausted to do anything besides sit on the couch and watch old movies with him.

He doesn’t let go of you the whole time.

After one and a half romcoms that you chose out of spite more than anything else, Allen asks if you want to spend the night at his place and you gleefully crawl into his lap, straddling him.

“Dave, are you the clingy type?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

The redness on his cheeks is all you need to confirm your suspicions and you laugh before hopping to your feet to get an overnight bag ready.

Allen wonders why _you_ couldn’t have been his soulmate instead.

* * *

You’re hyperaware of all the nonexistent eyes on you the second you climb out of Allen’s sedan the next morning. Now that you actually _are_ sleeping with your boss, you can’t help but be wary of all the prying gazes, especially since nobody in the station seems to know how to mind their own damn business.

In particular, you keep an eye out for Tina because if she’s going to hear it from anyone, she’s going to hear it from _you_.

“What are you so jumpy for?” Allen demands when the two of you make it into the elevator without one person looking at you twice. You give him a sheepish smile and shrug.

“Are we even allowed to date?”

His lips curve in satisfaction at the word ‘date,’ and he reaches out to squeeze your hand affectionately. “Of course we are. Just don’t be too fucking obvious about it." 

“You’re the one being obvious,” you point out, nodding at your interlocked fingers. He grins languidly at you but otherwise doesn’t deny it.

After brewing some coffee in the break room for the guys, you return to your assigned desk with every intention of doing your job as professionally as possible considering you just spent the whole weekend fucking your superior. You haven’t even gotten your laptop out when Scott suddenly slams a box in front of you and greets, “Good morning!”

“ _Fuck_. Do you have to be so loud?”

“Sorry,” the SWAT operative replies cheekily, opening the box of donuts. “Tell you what; you get first pick.”

“I would be _honored_." 

While you contemplate which donut to choose, Scott gives you a one-over, his gaze finally settling on your neck. Something catches his eye and he howls with laughter before calling for Trevor and Luis, who come running out of the break room at sound of their names.

“Look!” he exclaims delightedly, pointing at your neck. You try to cover it with your hands but it’s too late; Luis and Trevor have also begun laughing and you can only stare at them helplessly, feeling very much out of the loop.

“Where’s Jackson?” Luis questions, scanning the room for his friend while Trevor gives you an appraising look. Beside you, Scott is beckoning someone over and your heart skips a beat when you see Allen headed in your direction.

You try to look as though you’re working but you can’t do much with a box of forgotten donuts on your desk and three exuberant men surrounding you.

“What the fuck are you all doing?” Allen doesn’t sound amused, and you have to give him credit for not even sparing you a glance, as if you’re just a nameless officer instead of his new lover.

“I know what _you’re_ doing, Dick,” Scott informs him solemnly, motioning to you. “Or, well, I mean who you’re doing.”

“It’s _whom_ you’re doing, dumbfuck,” Luis corrects, but before Scott can retaliate, Allen cuts in.

“I don’t give a fuck how you say it,” he begins in an eerily calm tone. “But either get to work or get the fuck _out_.”

“Whatever you say, Richard,” Trevor replies breezily, swiping a donut from the box before returning to his desk. Following suit, Luis winks at you and then claps Allen’s back once, congratulating him. Scott is the last to fuck off, making suggestive gestures at you while Allen’s back is turned. You flip him the bird, flushing slightly. 

There goes not being obvious about it.

"Dave, is there something on my neck?" you whisper nervously.

Allen taps a spot on your collarbone. "Sorry."

Well, he certainly doesn't _look_ sorry. He's smug if anything, and you can't find it in yourself to be annoyed with him. 

“We have some new guys coming in,” the SWAT captain suddenly says, in a loud voice that catches the attention of your surrounding coworkers, as if he's trying to be heard. He points at your desk almost menacingly. “I need this space cleared out."

“What the fuck? I _just_ moved here—”

“ _You_ will be returning to my office.”

... _oh_.

Trying not to appear _too_ pleased with the new arrangement, you simply nod. “Understood, Captain.”

The moment you step into the office with your belongings, you deposit your laptop on your designated side of the desk. Without looking up, Allen taps his keyboard and the clear glass walls instantly begin to darken, the blinds closing shut as well.

Allen pushes himself to his feet. He walks passed you and you’re momentarily floored by his sudden aloofness. However, the feeling quickly passes when he locks the door and flips the lights off.

“Dave?” you ask cautiously, refusing to believe that he’s really going to fuck you silly in his office during work hours. Allen doesn’t say anything, taking slow, calculated steps towards you.

“There’s no point pretending if everybody knows,” he finally mutters, his hands already unbuttoning your pants. You let out a breathy chuckle and hop onto the desk, eager to make new memories in the office where you had first fallen in love with the grumpy captain. 

* * *

“You know, I bought a car from Reed because I didn’t want to bother you with rides anymore,” you comment off-handedly during lunchtime. Allen stops chewing momentarily but you don’t notice, picking at your burger. “And now we’re back to carpooling.”

“Well, you spent the night,” the SWAT captain reminds, his face impressively neutral as he recounts the events of said night.

You merely shrug your shoulders, muttering, “I guess.”

“Is that why you brought him lunch, too?” Allen wonders sarcastically, not even bothering to mask how annoyed he is at the fact that he saw you hand over a paper bag from Chicken Feed to the arrogant detective, who winked at you—rather _stupidly_ , might he add—in thanks. 

“Don’t be jealous.”

Captain Allen opens his mouth to defend himself, then promptly takes a large bite of his burger. You shake your head in amusement, leaning across the desk to peck his nose.

To your surprise, he flushes a flattering shade of red, and you immediately surge in to kiss him on the lips.

You don’t even care that the blinds aren’t closed this time around.

Outside, you think you hear the guys making a commotion but you truly cannot be bothered; like Allen said, there’s no point pretending if everybody already knows.

Towards the end of your eventful shift, Allen holds out a thick folder and asks if you can deliver it to Lieutenant Anderson. You’re quick to comply, practically yanking the files from his hands in your enthusiasm. Before you can run out, he calls your name sharply and you pause, turning to him with a tilt of your head.

He only smiles coyly, giving you a wink that you don’t expect. “Don’t be too long.”

Nodding dumbly, you take a few dazed step backwards and then quite literally run into the door when you turn around. Allen laughs openly while you stand there, stunned. The _nerve_ of this man to reduce you to a hot and bothered mess right when you’re about to visit your friends downstairs. Mentally vowing to get him back later, you shuffle out of the office, clutching the folder to your chest for dear life.

You’re still thinking about that damn wink when you step out of the elevator on the first floor, and you’re so distracted that you almost deliver the folder to Captain Fowler instead. Luckily, you catch yourself when you realize that it’s not Allen inside the office and you about-face to look for Hank.

Unfortunately, he’s not at his desk. You don’t see Connor nearby either, so you figure they must be out on a call. Lucky for you, the person you actually wanted to see is at her desk with her nose buried in some binder.

You stealthily sneak up behind her, your footsteps silent as you place a hand on her shoulder and lean down to whisper in her ear, “What’s good, Officer Chen?”

“Fuck!” she gasps, swiveling in her seat and swatting you for good measure. You merely chortle, holding your palms up in surrender.

“Sorry.”

Tina shakes her head. “This is why I don’t miss you sometimes.”

“But you miss me some of the time though, right?”

“Not as much as Gavin does.” She waggles her eyebrows at you suggestively and you snort, rolling your eyes. You and Reed have always had an interesting friendship to say the least. Most of the time, he gives you shit for no particular reason, but then he goes out of his way to help you out when you need it. He’s certainly an unusual character.

Then again, so is Allen.

A thought suddenly hits you and you grin wickedly at Tina, who notices the change in your expression and furrows her eyebrows, confused. “Hey, T. What they said was wrong.”

“Huh? What are you talking about? What who said?”

Although you have no desire to leave Homicide so quickly, you also don’t want to linger after saying what you’re planning to. You wink at Tina in an exaggerated manner, similar to how Reed does it with both his eyes. “He’s actually way better than just good.”

She doesn’t understand at first but you’ve already begun walking away, waving at her over your shoulder. You’re almost at the elevators when you hear her shout, “WAIT. YOU DID NOT!” 

You beam triumphantly to yourself, thinking about the many times in the past few days that you most definitely _did_ , and hop into the elevator before Tina can catch up to you and demand to hear all of the details.

* * *

An entire week of co-habiting with Captain Allen goes by, and you begin to wonder if maybe the two of you are moving a bit too quickly. Sure, he _is_ your soulmate and someone you're _supposed_ to want to be with. It makes perfect sense that the two of you have been spending so much time together. 

But _still_. You don’t want to overwhelm him, especially since he has the propensity to act on his irrational beliefs without considering how they may affect others. You would know.

That’s why you hadn’t ever met him until recently.

You trust Allen more than anyone, but you can’t shake the feeling that everything is going too well to truly last. There _has_ to be a catch. 

“You should move in.”

Perhaps you spoke too soon.

It’s a good thing that you’ve already finished your dinner, because otherwise you would probably be choking on a few pieces of penne by now. Flushing deeply, you grab the almost full glass of water in front of you and down the whole thing in one go. Once you’ve bought enough time to gather your thoughts, you lift your gaze to Allen’s eyes, which are trained on you and nothing else.

You gulp. “I should what now?”

Something about the look on your face seems to deter him. For once, you can safely say that he looks _panicked_. “Don’t worry about it.”

Unacceptable. “Dave, what did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“You want me to move in?”

“No,” he lies quickly, but upon seeing your disheartened expression, backpedals hurriedly, “well, okay, maybe I do.”

You must appear unconvinced because he suddenly reaches a hand across the table and places it gently on your own.

“Baby, I _do_ ,” he insists earnestly, sounding nothing like the hardened SWAT captain everyone makes him out to be. His words are soft, his eyes full of nothing but total adoration that leaves you lightheaded and inebriated.

“You’re really not getting tired of me?”

Allen chuckles then. He gets to feet and walks over to you, tugging you out of your seat and into his arms. “Never.”

“Even if I’m not your soulmate?” you tease, intently listening to the sound of his heartbeat under your ear. At your question, he suddenly tenses and you wince, ready to apologize for bringing it up again.

You expect him to snap at you for the unnecessary jab, so you’re taken aback when he quietly asks, “Do you care that I’m not yours?”

Eyes wide, you pull away from him. Captain Allen is the _last_ man you would ever consider to be insecure. Anybody with eyes can see just by the way he holds himself that he’s not someone to be trifled with. Confidence is something that comes naturally to him and you can hear that when he speaks, when he calls out orders in the field.

To see him so unsure of himself, of where he stands with you, makes you realize that maybe he wasn’t so crazy for not wanting to meet you.

Only soulmates can make a man as self-assured and untouchable as David Allen doubt himself, after all.

Your heart breaks a little. You want to tell him. You want to get rid of any insecurities that may be stopping him from asking what he wants from you because you _love_ him and—

 _Fuck_.

“I don’t need anyone else but you.”

And with those final words, you haul him down for a long, fervent kiss.

* * *

You watch sullenly as Allen double-checks his bag of equipment, and you huff when he zips it up and slings it over his shoulder. He saunters to you with a placating grin that you don’t return. Normally, you would be all over him decked-out in his SWAT gear, which in your opinion is one of his sexiest looks, right after stark naked. However, the get-up isn’t exactly as sexy when you know that you’ll be stuck alone in the office for the whole day while he and the rest of the team are out training in a classified location that he refuses to divulge.

“You can just head home if you finish early,” he suggests, dropping his bag by the door. You’re annoyed at the prospect of being abandoned but that doesn’t stop you from getting up and throwing your arms around him in farewell. 

He pecks the top of your head before tilting your chin up to press his lips against yours. You sigh into the kiss, momentarily forgetting your irritation.

Allen is the first to pull away, though it’s clear from the pained look on his face and the protective way he’s holding you that he has no desire to leave. As much as you don’t want him to go either, you refuse to be the reason that he begins to slack off.

You quite literally shoo him out of his own office with the promise of seeing him at home later. After one final kiss goodbye, Allen heads out with the rest of the unit, leaving you alone in the office with not a single soul to talk to.

It’s fine, though. All you have to do is get a few reports in and then you can fuck off for the day. Allen left you his car keys as well so you don’t have to worry about finding a ride home. Actually, now that you think about it, home for you has been Allen’s apartment as of late; you even have a copy of his keys to prove it.

Sometimes, you have to remind yourself that you aren’t dreaming, as clichéd as it sounds. It has only been a few weeks and already Allen has become one of the most important people in your life. He makes you happier than you ever would have dared to dream. You can’t imagine the world without him. His face is the one you’ve had the privilege of waking up to in the morning, and the one you see before drifting off to sleep at night.

To think that almost a month ago, you were ready to resign when you found out that you’d been moved to SWAT…

A sudden, muffled buzzing noise snaps you out of your thoughts and your eyes land on something glowing on the desk. Upon further inspection, you find Allen’s phone beneath a piece of office paper and you curse.

 _Fuck, he left his phone,_ you think in panic. You’re pretty certain that he needs his phone with him at all times, especially if he’s going somewhere remote that is only accessible to specific personnel. You don’t have any of the other guys' contact information, either, and you don’t know anyone who might.

How long has it even been? Can you possibly catch up to them if you run out right now…?

A brilliant idea suddenly crosses your mind and you swipe a pen. Begging the universe that Allen isn’t too far away, you write 'hey, you left your phone' on your forearm and hope for the best.

Minutes go by with no reply and your heart drops. At this point, all you can do is trust that nothing will go wrong with the training exercise, and that he'll return to you safe and sound.

It's the least of your worries, but now you have no choice but to remain in the office until he gets back. If something really is to happen, you're better off staying at the station where you can hear updates firsthand. Who knows, maybe you'll even be sent out to assist them. 

You’re too busy worrying about what you're going to do and whether Allen will be alright, so you don’t notice the office door opening. It’s only when you hear footsteps behind you that you turn around in surprise.

You let out a breath of relief, swiping his phone off the desk and holding it out for him to take. When he doesn’t move to get it, you roll your eyes at his laziness and get up to hand it to him.

Instead of grabbing his phone, Allen grabs your wrist. 

“What are you—” you begin in bewilderment, until you realize that he’s tracing the writing on your forearm as if he can’t believe that it’s there. He shifts his gaze to your eyes then, and you’re certain you’ll never forget the look of acute incredulity on his face for as long as you live.

And that’s when it hits you.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” you croak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to end this fic just as much as you guys, don't worry lol.
> 
> Anyway, thank y'all again for the wonderful comments and kudos <3 <3 <3 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this thicc chapter ;) 
> 
> My [tumblr](https://thedevianthunterrk800.tumblr.com) where I write more Allen/Reader (Rallen?? Reallen??).


	8. Fated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At forty-four years old, David Allen finally meets the love of his life.
> 
> He’s not exactly sure why you’re just standing there gaping at him like you can’t believe that he exists, but he won’t deny that something about you has him utterly smitten.
> 
> He could do without you yelling in his office, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tagged this as age difference when I first published it and only now is it really relevant haha.

In the first grade, David Allen excitedly scribbles a greeting on his left arm. He’s just been told about soulmates and like his peers, he can’t wait to meet the one person his mother said would be his best friend for the rest of his life.

Around him, his friends are cheering delightedly and showing off the new, unfamiliar handwriting on their skin.

David waits the whole day.

He doesn’t receive a reply.

* * *

His father suggests that there’s a good chance his soulmate has simply not been born yet, or isn’t old enough to read and write. _Of course_ David isn’t going to receive a reply from them; how would that even be possible?

Feeling a little better about the whole situation, David patiently writes a greeting on his left forearm once each day, regardless of whether the words from the previous day are still visible or not.

He’s _certain_ that his soulmate will be able to write back soon.

He can _feel_ it.

Unfortunately, that isn’t the case.

Weeks go by. Then months. Years.

Although David is not the type of boy to be deterred so easily, right now, he feels cheated. He may not be able to understand this novel emotion quite yet, but that doesn’t make the rejection any easier to bear.

By fourth grade, David has completely stopped trying to find his soulmate.

* * *

He feels his first real heartache in high school when his now-ex unceremoniously dumps him because “you’re just not my soulmate, Dave.”

The rejection is fresh but somehow familiar. He can’t say that this is the only time he’s lost his significant other over this soulmate bullshit, but there’s something more painful about his first relationship ending because of it.

Still, no-one is to blame except himself. After all, why would anybody waste their time on someone _not_ their destined other half? It's like attending a class you're not even enrolled in.

Fucking _pointless_. 

Straight-faced, David plays it off. Shrugs his shoulders as if he isn’t heartbroken and walks away from his not-soulmate without a backwards glance.

And this is how it is for the next few years.

He finds someone. They click and get into a hasty relationship. The other person insists— _lies_ —that they aren’t looking for their soulmate either. A few weeks go by and then they miraculously change their mind, and David once again finds himself alone, cursing the universe for making him suffer for no fucking reason. 

One day in college, following an evening of awful decision-making and spiked beer pong, David drags his ass through the back doors of the large lecture hall, twenty minutes late. Luckily, he’s able to find an empty seat in the corner, only earning a few curious glances as he not-so subtly drops to his chair.

His hangover isn’t unbearable, but he’s starting to regret coming to class. The lights in the lecture hall are blinding even in the very back, and though the professor’s voice isn’t booming in the slightest, David’s right beneath the speakers.

Suddenly, he feels a dull tingle on his arm and his first reaction is to slap it. He’s never really cared for insects, never been the type to set them free like others. It doesn't help that he's in a foul mood thanks to his throbbing headache either.

David glances down, expecting to see a dead ant or fly on his forearm.

He definitely isn’t prepared for the ‘hi, soulmate what’s your name?’ in what appears to be purple ink staring back at him. His stomach drops when he absorbs the messy, partially-illegible scrawl of a young child who has barely learned how to write. 

His soulmate is a fucking  _kid_.

David almost wants to throw up, and it has _nothing_ to do with his hangover.

This _can’t_ be. He’s waited years for this moment but now that it’s actually happened, he wishes it never did.

He figured his soulmate died. That maybe he doesn’t even have one.

But this? Fuck, this is infinitely _worse_.

David doesn’t want anything to do with this kid. There’s no saying the kind of mockery he’s going to receive from his friends when they find out that his soulmate, his supposed perfect other half, is a goddamn _child_.

He’s suffered heartbreak after heartbreak because of this person. His love-life is in total shambles because the universe decided to curse him with someone that he can't be with.

Furious and humiliated, David rummages through his backpack for a pen and writes the only appropriate response he can come up with.

_fuck off_

* * *

Years go by.

The scribbles that sometimes grace his arm become neater, the questions and greetings more articulate with each passing day.

He chooses not to respond most of time. The few instances he does, he makes sure to be vulgar and dismissive.

It doesn’t always work.

His soulmate is persistent. They continue to pester him with questions that he refuses to answer. They share little details about themselves except their own name, interestingly enough. David doesn’t give quite enough fucks to ask.

At one point, his soulmate shares their phone number and like a true gentleman, David signs them up for various mobile scams on websites he would never otherwise visit.

A dick move on his end, but if it gets them off his back, it’s nothing he’ll lose sleep over.

Sure enough, they don’t write to him after that.

* * *

Captain Allen stumbles home from a shameful one-night-stand with a fellow officer from… admittedly, he doesn’t even remember which department.

Then again, it’s not like it really matters because that person _isn’t_ his soulmate.

But Allen is starting to feel lonely. He wants to fall in love just like everybody else and spend the rest of his life with that special someone. Even if his soulmate is a huge prick who has no problem humiliating him—he’s recently been dubbed Richard at work because of the literal dick stunt they pulled off—he figures there’s no harm in trying to at least make amends. Who knows, maybe it'll help him feel a little better. 

Drunk and impulsive, he finds a pen and jots down a quick greeting to his soulmate. He passes out almost instantly afterwards, and when he awakens the following morning with no reply, he immediately hops into the shower and scrubs the ink off.

Well, so much for trying.

* * *

At forty-four years old, David Allen finally meets the love of his life.

He’s not exactly sure why you’re just standing there gaping at him like you can’t believe that he exists, but he won’t deny that something about you has him utterly smitten.

He could do without you yelling in his office, though.

* * *

What wins him over is how readily you snap at him for having you come in early with no way to access the office. There’s no denying that it’s his fault, although he definitely wasn’t expecting your aggressive demeanor this early in the morning.

He should be pissed… but you’re right. It’s entirely on him.

Allen’s simply amazed you actually have the balls to point it out.

You refuse to speak to him when he finally unlocks the door to his office, and he’s a little surprised how much that irks him. The two of you sit there in steely silence for a good few minutes before he gets up to buy some apology donuts.

It doesn’t take long for him to fall for you.

Not only do the two of you spend most of the day together cooped up in the same space, Allen also finds himself with you before and after work hours. Whether it’s giving you rides to and from the station or grabbing dinner together at the end of a long shift, he cherishes every second.

There’s just something about you that he can’t get enough of. You’re hilarious to be around and snarky enough to keep him in check. It’s easy to be with you and he doesn’t know why, but he won’t question it. Fuck, sometimes he feels like _you're_ the person he's meant to be with. He hates the idea of soulmates, and this is doubly the case when he’s with you because _it’s not fair_ that you’re not his, no matter how much he wants you to be.

But that’s _fine_. You don’t want your soulmate either and he’s certain that if he continues to keep your interest piqued, you’ll have no desire to seek the other man out. Allen will be more than enough for you.

It does hurt whenever you bring up his soulmate. When you tell him that he should meet them, he about loses his mind. The two of you are holding hands and you’re looking up at him with nothing less than fondness, probably  _more_ , yet here you are suggesting he meet his supposed true love when all he wants is _you_.

He doesn’t regret standing his soulmate up. He doesn’t regret speeding past John’s Coffee without even glancing inside to see who his other half is.

Allen merely grits his teeth and heads over to your apartment. He stands outside your door and knocks several times but you don’t answer. His phone is dead and he can’t contact you, yet he refuses to leave. Before he ruins his life and meets the one person he’s destined to be with, he needs to let you know how he feels.

You're livid when you find him outside your door, and though you shove him, he doesn’t feel anything other than relief that you’re _here_. He barely registers what you’re yelling in his face before he makes his move and kisses you like he’s wanted to for the past few weeks.

You kiss him back and his mind wipes clean. He can’t think, can’t focus on anything that isn’t your fiery touches and the firm press of your lips against his.

Don’t even get him started on what the two of you do that night.

Captain Allen feels like he’s on cloud nine. For once in his life, he can safely say that he’s happy and in love. Nothing can _possibly_ make him any happier.

_**hey, you left your phone** _

And then somehow, something does.

* * *

It’s like a fucking staredown.

Allen is gaping at you and you’re gawking right back at him.

You… well, you fucked up to put it bluntly. You weren’t thinking when you wrote that accursed message on your forearm, and now you’ve gone and exposed yourself without so much as an escape plan prepared.

Not that you can escape with Allen still holding onto your arm. You subtly attempt to wiggle it just to see if he’ll react, but his grip is like steel.

You can honestly say that had Luis not popped in to check up on Allen, the two of you would’ve remained there for the whole damn day in an eternal deadlock.

“What the fuck?” Luis asks when he sees both of you just  _standing_ there, immobile, and only then do you spring alive. You tug your arm back and Allen straightens up, wordlessly holding his hand out for the phone still in your grip. You weakly return the device to him, and he gives you a distracted nod.

“Thanks,” he mutters gravelly, turning around and motioning for Luis to lead the way.

“Be safe,” you call out weakly, and he pauses briefly to smile at you before walking out of the office, the glass door shutting closed with a soft click.

You don’t even bother to waste time pretending to work on the reports. Instead, you gather what you need in your bag and lock the office for the day, leaving Allen’s car keys on his desk.

It’s probably irresponsible to abandon the deserted floor, but that’s the least of your concerns at the moment. Hoping to avoid having to interact with anybody in the elevator, you decide to take the stairs down to the first level.

Once outside the station, you pull your phone out to call a taxi—something you’ve yet to do despite always planning on it—but a car suddenly pulls up in front of you, blaring its horn.

You glance up with a start and see Tina rolling her window down.

“Hey, you need a ride?” she calls, waving you over. Normally, you’d decline the offer, seeing as Tina is likely being sent out on patrol instead of heading home like you, but you can really use the company. Anyway, she mustn’t be _that_ busy if she’s offering you a ride, so you hop into the passenger seat without any objections.

At first, you hold your tongue and allow Tina to carry the conversation, only offering your input whenever she pauses or asks you a question. However, it’s clear from your face that something isn’t right and Tina notices it after you fail to respond to her latest inquiry.

She doesn’t even have to prod too much before you break and tell her _everything_.

You tell her all about your soulmate issues, about how much you hated yours for most your life because of the way he refused to acknowledge your existence. You tell her about Captain Allen, about realizing that _he’s_ your soulmate on that fateful day when she had you deliver the tablet to the fourth floor. You tell her about the desk that you both shared, how he’d infuriated you to no end yet somehow managed to win you over with his friendly gestures and playful exchanges.

You tell her how you finally began falling for him despite knowing that you shouldn’t, and how he’d fallen for you, too.

And of course, you tell her about what you _just_ did and what you failed to say.

Tina doesn’t speak for a long time and you wonder if she was paying any attention at all.

Then she turns to you, amusement written all over her face. “You worry too much.”

“Did—did you even listen to me?”

“I did,” she laughs, rolling her eyes at you. “And I think you’re overreacting.”

“How the fuck can you even say that?”

She gives you a deadpan look. “He loves you. Why would he be pissed to find out that you’re his soulmate?”

“Because I kept it from him, maybe?”

“So? It’s not like he didn't deserve it.”

“Tina, you don’t understand—“

“No, I do,” Tina interrupts firmly, rolling the car to a stop in front of your apartment complex. “You just assume the worst. Nothing bad is going to happen between you and Allen.”

You chew on your lower lip. There's no point in convincing Tina otherwise when she’s this hell-bent on something. With a defeated sigh, you reach over and give her a one-armed embrace.

“Fine,” you groan as you climb out of the car. Tina grabs your bag from the backseat and passes it to you. Smiling, you thank her for the ride back and she waves you off.

“Everything will be alright. He’s your soulmate for a reason, you know.”

You beg to differ, but Tina’s already done a lot for you at this point. With a final goodbye, she drives away, lifting some of the weight off your shoulders in the process.

* * *

At around nine that evening, you hear the loud chime of your doorbell and you feel your heart stop. Throat suddenly very dry, you abandon your laptop on the coffee table and nervously approach the door to look through the peephole.

Allen hadn’t contacted you once since he’d returned to the office for his phone—and well, to confirm your identity—so you’re a little surprised that he’s actually here.

You take a deep breath as you open the door, and it’s a good thing you do because you feel it leave your lips the moment Allen surges in to kiss you. Your eyes widen at the passionate gesture before fluttering closed, and you sigh blissfully at the very familiar sensation of his lips on yours.

Just as quickly as he swooped in, Allen pulls away. He grabs your hand and leads you to the couch. He plops down on the cushions and tugs you into his lap, and after carefully adjusting yourself so that you’re as comfortable as you can possibly be sitting on someone’s thighs, you rest your head on his shoulder.

He sighs contently. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

“Disappointed?” you tease with a wink. He chuckles softly, shaking his head.

“Far from it.”

You bite your lip. “Are you mad?”

"Why would I be mad?” Allen scoffs, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I hid it from you.”

This time, he lets out a sharp bark of laughter. You smack his chest playfully and he grins. “I can’t blame you for that, though. I _was_ a dick about it.”

“A huge dick,” you mutter under your breath but he hears it anyway. He smirks and kisses your forehead.

“I know.”

The room falls silent as both of you gather your thoughts. You’ve spent _countless_ hours preparing a whole speech for this exact moment. You can recall all the nights you stomped into the bathroom in rage, screaming insults at your reflection in the mirror as if you were yelling at your soulmate instead. There's a crumpled piece of paper somewhere in your childhood bedroom containing a list of all the colorful names you'd planned on calling them when you finally met face to face. 

You fully expected this moment to be fueled with years of pent-up anger, maybe even furious tears and shouting, not what the two of you are doing now which is... cuddling in your living room.

If only you could go back in time and show your young self how everything would pan out.

“I’m sorry,” Allen abruptly blurts, giving you a good squeeze, and you splutter in surprise. 

To think that you actually lived to see hell freeze over.

Allen, your antagonizing soulmate, apologizing? Even though you’re at fault for keeping him in the dark this whole time?

You almost want to laugh.

“I haven’t been a good soulmate,” he continues when you don’t say anything, taking your stunned silence as a cue to keep talking. “I know I’ve been a dick and, well, fuck. I’m _sorry_.”

Truthfully, it's an acceptable apology at best, considering how much shit he's put you through, but the guilt on his face is more than enough to convince you that at least he's being sincere. Still, you have no desire to let him off the hook that easily, and you give him your best scrutinizing glare. “You ignored me my whole life.”

“I know.”

You jab finger against his chest. “You gave my number to spam callers.”

“I know.”

Another jab. “You told me to fuck off when I was a fucking  _child_.”

“I know.”

“You’re a royal _prick_ , David Allen.”

He snorts. “I know, baby. I know.”

Grinning, you grab a fistful of his sweatshirt and tug him close, until your noses are just brushing. “You _owe_ me.”

Allen nods solemnly, eyes twinkling with mischief. Without warning, he shoves you backwards into the couch. You fall to your back with a yelp and suddenly, he’s on top of you, a sight you’re only too comfortable with. Unperturbed, you lazily reach up to run a hand through his brown, slicked-back locks.

“Hey,” you whisper, eyes never leaving his.

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry for drawing dicks on you, Richard.”

"Fuck off,” Allen groans, flushing slightly at your cheekiness. The words are barely out of his mouth when an odd expression crosses his face. He maneuvers himself off of you and gets to his feet. You sit up in confusion, wondering what’s gotten into him.

Nonchalantly, he grabs the pen you left uncapped on the coffee table and sinks to the couch by your feet. He scribbles something on his arm but you can’t see what.

Your left forearm tingles, hotter than usual but not unpleasantly so. You lift your arm and blink at the single word staring at you, the ink still fresh and glossy.

_David_

“To answer your question,” he adds sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. It takes you several seconds to understand what he’s talking about before it hits you and you tackle him to the floor with glee.

Although it may have taken several years to finally receive the response you wanted the first time you wrote to your soulmate, you can safely say that Captain David Allen is very much worth the long, frustrating wait.

Maybe the universe has always had your back, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank all you lovely people for sticking with me through this! Thank you for all the kudos, bookmarks, reviews, and well, just reading this whole thing! And honestly, thank you anon for that request all those months ago! :) 
> 
> You guys have been the best! Daddy Allen forever <3
> 
> My [tumblr](https://thedevianthunterrk800.tumblr.com) !


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